Hunted
by onehellofashot
Summary: (Previously titled 'The Beginning') The gang comes to find that they don't know anything about a pair of Slayer hunters who have recently come to town with a couple of tricks up their sleeves. Spike thinks he may have found a way to get over Buffy. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**Author's Note:** Please note that this story begins in Season Six (Episode Three - After Life) immediately after the events of Buffy's death and reincarnation.

* * *

In Sunnydale, the term 'normal day' is subjective. You come home and your mom says, "How was your day, sweetie?"

You give her the run-of-the-mill "Fine, mom. It was just like any other day."

"Well, how'd that math test go?"

"I thought I aced it, but Mr. Barney still asked me to come in during my lunch period."

"Well, honey... what are those marks on your neck?"

"Extra credit."

An average answer for a completely average day.

Spike was pleased to say it was a totally normal day, and not only a normal day, but a good day; the girl he loved was back in town, there was a fridge full of blood back at his crypt, and a new pack of cigarettes sat in his pocket. Not to mention, he was about to make a pretty penny playing some poker. Clem hosted these games every other Friday night with a buy in of $50 or 3 kittens. The games weren't huge, just a couple of Clem's friends and a quick way to make cash if you knew what you were doing, and that night, Spike felt pretty confident in himself.

Tonight's game was normal as well. Six familiar (if not gruesome) faces surrounded Spike at the table, accompanied by one who just didn't fit in with the rest. Assessing his new competition, Spike found that, while he looked like a human, this wasn't one, and he wasn't just some vampire either. Clad in an expensive Armani suit and even a bored look on his face, he looked like he had been confident in every move he had ever made, and he had one hell of a poker strategy. Spike forced himself to look away and focus on the game.

_Okay, one 3, two 5's, one 8, and a jack. Fuck. Nothing_. Mr. Unfamiliar took the lot without a second glance; you could even say he looked bored. The rest of that night followed that same basic pattern; he'd get himself set all right and proper, maybe even get a decent hand, and then he'd would find himself staring down at a better hand (usually attached to what's-his-face). Just when Spike was ready to take what was left of his chips (not to mention his pride) and go, he came across a flush. _Perfect_. Mr. Armani took a second, not looking up to see the smug on Spike's face, and then folded along with most of the others . The only player who kept his cards in hand was Nduger, a fiery goblin who stood no more than two feet off the ground. He usually kept a strong smirk and nothing else on his scabby, pink face, but now he sat stooped over his cards with squinted eyes and a frown. Nduger was so confident in his hand in the beginning that he went so far as to bet $200 _and_ a kitten, but as both 'men' dropped their arms to reveal the card's faces, a raspy growl came from the bottom of his throat. The corners of Spike's mouth curled in delight as he scooped his winnings into his arms, a faint _meow_ coming from somewhere in the pile. Nduger stood up quickly, his chair tumbling backwards behind him. He detached the ax that hung from the back of his belt and swung it into the table, sticking the dirty metal edge in the wood. Clem patted him on the back roughly, "It's okay, Ger, you'll get 'em next time." The goblin shrugged the hand off of his shoulder, climbing on top of the table to retrieve his ax and leaving without a word. He would be back at the next game; he always came back. Clem stood, shaking out the sagging flesh that hung from his bones, "Poor guy..."

Spike stashed the bundle of money away in his pocket, "Yeah, well, hopefully he's better at guarding a bridge."

"That's a troll," Mr. Armani laughed.

Spike raised an eyebrow, the flame of his lighter sitting just a few inches from his unlit cigarette. "Pardon?"

"Goblins don't guard bridges, trolls do." He paused, "Actually, that was one troll, and he _really_ wasn't living up to his full potential."

"That so?" Spike said, losing interest.

The man approached him, offering a hand, "I'm Abel."

The handshake was careful, "Spike."

"Spike? As in railroad?"

He couldn't help but smile just a little at that; it really did the nonexistent soul good to come across a fan. "You've heard of me?"

"I've heard an anecdote or two, but I never thought I would come across you here."

It was just a normal sentence, but Spike could sense something... faulty in his tone; a pitch that sounded _too_ genuine if not a little hostile. Before he could respond, Abel said his goodbyes and disappeared through the door. Spike finished off his beer before turning to Clem, "We inviting in any nancy boy on the street now, eh?"

Clem shrugged, leaning the folding chairs against the wall, "Abel is a good guy to have on your side; he's got a lot of connections."

"Connections?" Spike scoffed. "What in the bloody fuck does that even mean?"

"I know he doesn't look it, but he's powerful, and... and he's a really good guy when you're on his right side. I want to stay on his right side."

Spike stood for a moment, debating on what to say, but instead he grabbed his duster from the table and left without another word. However powerful he was, Spike didn't like him.

* * *

It didn't usually take long for Spike to arrive at his Crypt, but he took the long way around the graveyard. It wasn't very normal of him, but he wanted to enjoy the cool fresh air before daylight, indulging in a couple of cigarettes. By the time he arrived home, his fresh pack was diminished to a measly seven.

Approaching the door, he immediately knew that something was wrong; there was a new, but slightly familiar, scent accompanied by the sound of the telly within. Irritated, he turned around to the nearest tree and pulled off a piece of branch, wasting no time entering the crypt. _Passions_ played on the TV and a head bobbed just above the back of _his_ chair. "Oi," he barked. "Just what do you think you're doing in here?"

Abel rose from the chair, a pretentious smile pasted on his face. Spike rolled his eyes and tossed his stake to floor, "Come for another hand of poker, mate?"

"Well, Spike, I thought you might be able to do me a favor."

Spike huffed as he brushed past him, retrieving a jar of blood from the fridge. "A favor," he snorted. "Well, I can manage the laundry and the cooking, but I don't do windows."

Abel laughed, "I like you, Spike. You've got that attitude that you just don't come by now-a-days. Not only that, but you've got an interesting taste in the company you keep."

Spike raised an eyebrow, setting down the blood and crossing his arms over his chest.

"You've really impressed me, you know. A vampire who can befriend the slayer," he laughed again. "I mean, it's uh... not exactly common."

Spike straightened, his stomach dropping at the direction of conversation. "Look, _mate_, I'm getting bored here. If you could get to the point some time soon..."

Abel approached carefully, his hands clasped in front of him. "I was just wondering if you could give a message to the Slayer for me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

At first glance, the Scoobies looked like the group of friends that you want to be apart of. They looked happy, not like someone who knew real loss and certainly not anyone who had stabbed someone else with a piece of wood, but no matter how normal they looked, they found thierselves sitting at the Magic Box every other night, studying demons. It was a Thursday, or "Pizza Night" according to Xander. The group stooped over various books including "The Majick's and Reincarnation: What To Do When It Inevitably Goes Wrong" and "Exorcisms for Dummies". Anya had been sleeping until Xander walked through the door with stacks of pizza in his arms. Giles had gotten so sick of walking back and forth to the book shelves, that he eventually stationed himself on the floor in front of them. Willow and Tara shared a book, but were more concerned with footsie than there reading. Buffy did nothing; a book sat unopened on her lap and her fingers moved back and forth over the soft cover, her mouth set in a tight line. Dawn stood behind her, ditching the community effort and stroking her sister's hair.

"Why can't Buffy just do the usual kick-punch-punch thing and get it over with?" Anya whined, taking another bite of pizza.

Giles sighed, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes, "Anya, I don't know how many times I have to tell yo-" The bell that hung over the door gave a soft jingle from across the room and the group turned to see Spike stomp across the threshold. "Who the fuck is Abel?" He stormed across the floor, his fists clenched. He was a mess; his usually slicked back hair stood up, his face was covered in blood and bruises, and it appeared that his t-shirt had been ripped down the middle to reveal his also bruised chest.

Giles stood, setting his book down on the shelf behind him, "Abel?"

Spike brought a cigarette to his lips, lighting it with a shaking hand, "Some git decided to come pay me a very _special_ visit. Called himself Abel."

"I'm sure this question will come as a shock," Xander said though a smirk. "but why do you think any of us care?"

He pointed a finger at Buffy, who hadn't look at him until then, "He wanted to give the princess a message." Carefully, Spike pull back the left side of his torn shirt to reveal a still sizzling burn on the side of his abdomen. He took a long drag of cigarette before turning back to Buffy, "I'm not some damned receptionist, so you can take your own messages from now on."

She raised herself from her seat, crossing the floor to Spike and without a second thought, she brought her hand to touch the burn. The group shifted uncomfortably in unison, looking to Giles to say something. "Well... I... You all keep researching Buffy's ghost and I guess I'll look for the symbol and any information on this Abel fellow. Spike, if you don't mind, I'd like to take a closer look at that burn."

Spike grabbed Buffy's hand, gently lowering it to her side and for the first time, she looked him in the eyes. "You should clean yourself up too."

He snorted, recovering his cool exterior, "Please, I did't come here for medical attention, I just... thought that you... would want to hear about this, you know... being the Slayer and all."

Giles shifted on his feet uncomfortably, "Did he say anything that might be useful?"

Spike turned to him, moving his shirt again while Giles sketched the wound on a spare piece of paper. "This may come as a surprise, but we didn't have a whole lot of conversation."

"Nothing then?"

"Clem did say something... he kept going on about how Abel is "the guy you want on your side"... something about 'connections'."

Giles frowned and without saying anything, retreated to the upper level of the shop. "Well, how bad can he be?" Xander asked. "I mean, he took the time to kick your ass."

"Piss off."

* * *

Things settled down once again and Spike even decided to stay and "help". Of course, knowing Spike, there wasn't a lot of helping done on his part. Eventually though, he did decide to to move to the bathroom and clean himself up. Staring back at his nonexistent reflection, he lifted his hands to his face, evaluating the damage and could feel the dry blood that coated his eyebrow. The skin of his forehead was black and raw from being beat against the ground and a pain in his lower back told him that something wasn't really sitting right with his spine. The burn on his chest - an upside down horseshoe with two slashes made vertically through it - was a lot smaller than it felt; Spike clenched his teeth together, annoyed, when he began to wash the blood from his knuckles.

"You look like hell."

The voice was just barely above a whisper, but it brought heat to the back of Spike's neck. Buffy's reflection stood alone in the mirror, her arms crossed over her chest. Spike clenched his fists, willing himself not to reach out and touch her. Ever since she came back, she'd been so lost and now that those hollow eyes met his and he wanted to touch her and make her see that everything would be okay. Instead, he turned to face the sink again, "Yeah, well, you should see the other guy."

"I guess I will be soon," she shrugged, coming to stand next to him. Spike took a deep breath, originally intended to calm himself, but instead he caught the scent of her perfume. _Jasmine_. She took the rag from his hands, moving on to his face. "You haven't been around much."

"My invitation must have got lost in the mail."

Buffy sighed, "Spike, I... You... kidnapped me and chained me to a wall, you've endangered my friends and family, and I can't even count how many times you've tried to kill me. I don't know why you're so shocked every time we fail to roll out the welcome wagon when you come around."

He rolled his eyes, "I've been good, you know. I hel-"

"I know, you took care of Dawn when I was... You protected her."

"Well, I didn't expect nancy boy out there to do it; not either one of them... she needed me."

She smiled, her hands locked around his, "I just wanted to say thank you." He bit down on the inside of his cheek, inhaling slowly. _Don't lose your head, mate._ He couldn't help what he was feeling, though. A renewed sense of hope appeared in his gut, and he imagined caressing the soft skin of her cheek, telling her that it would all be okay, and she would be so overwhelmingly grateful that she would lean forward and place her lips to his.

"Whatever you wanted between us isn't going to happen," she said flatly. His face got hot, how could he think that would be ever happen? "You need to move on, Spike." With every word, he felt the anger seep through his veins; he wasn't exactly sane when it came to love and rejection. He wanted to smash her head into the wall, drain her unconscious body and just when she was about to slip away, feed her. She would love him then. She would take him and kiss his face and say, _"Oh, Spike, you've taken all the pain away,"_ and he would make love to her for the rest of eternity. He would make sure that she never felt pain again. "Are you listening?"

He grabbed her wrist, ripping it away from his face, "I had 147 days to come about my senses, love. Don't you worry."

* * *

Giles slammed a book shut angrily, "I can't find anything."

Willow, the last person awake turned to watch him pull himself down the ladder. "It's okay, Giles. We uh... I can always look online."

"Actually, Willow, I wondering if you could get a picture to a friend of mine via the... um... Internet."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Author's Note: **I've been going through chapters that I've already written and posted and I'm totally embarrassed about the mistakes I'm finding! I just wanted to ask for your patience while I work on finding a Beta that can help catch my mistakes. Thanks to everyone who has been reading. -xo

* * *

Buffy sat at her kitchen table, a frown on her face and a bill clasped tightly in her hands. Willow and Tara both sat across from her, tightly clasping each other's hands under the table. "We, uh... we were doing really good w-with the bills and stuff, bu-"

"It just got to be too much," Willow finished.

Buffy shook her head, her lip quivering and tears threatening to spill over her lids, "It's okay, we'll... um... we can figure this out."

Willow reached across the table, laying a hand on top of Buffy's, "Your mom left behind enough money to get us all through these past couple of months, but once it started running out, we started to use it for just the essentials."

Buffy put a hand on her head, debating on what to say, but Tara spoke before she could. "We weren't just going to wait until we lost the house or anything like that. It took a while, but I finally found a job teaching meditation and yoga classes down at the university."

Willow smiled, proudly rubbing a hand over her arm, "Yeah! And I've been talking to Anya about working at the Magic Box. She's not... thrilled about the whole 'having to pay me' part, but she really needs the help."

Buffy smiled, rubbing her hands over her face to collect herself, "That's great, guys."

Tara looked over at Willow, giving her a small nod. She took a deep breath, "Buffy, I know we haven't exactly talked about it, but..."

"But what?"

"We like it here, you know... with you and Dawn and we want to stay. We... we want to stay and we want to help... you know, like a... family."

Buffy smiled, tears threatening to spill over gain. "I... was hoping you weren't going to leave us behind. You have no idea how much Dawn and I need you here." Tara and Willow smiled in unison, Willow giving Buffy's hand another tight squeeze before standing to go to the fridge. Buffy let out an annoyed sigh, "I should probably look into a job too... and a loan to fix those stupid pipes."

"You should go down to the university," Tara suggested. "They've got a few fighting classes that you'd be perfect for."

Buffy sighed, the stress returning to her face, and laid her head down on the table. "I guess I'll go up there and ask about it," she sighed.

"Not tonight you're not," Willow smiled.

"Yeah," Tara agreed. "We're going to The Bronze tonight for a much-needed break."

"Oh, no, I don't think so," Buffy shook her head. "I've... got to stay home with Dawn."

Willow smirked, "Dawn left for Denise's an hour ago." She crossed over to Tara, taking her hand for support. "You're not getting out of this one."

* * *

Spike had been sitting at the bar for an hour, pretending not to notice the happy group of children in the corner of the room. He didn't notice them at first, but he knew the sound of her laugh from a hundred miles away. He heard it ringing through the crowd, and upon searching for it, found Buffy surrounded by her friends with a smile on her face. He felt jealousy swell in his veins as he took another swig of his beer. He tried to focus on his surroundings, watching all of the stupid little people, but none could keep his mind off of that blonde streak of hair in the corner of his eye. He struggled to look aloof, keep his eyes away from the table and pretend that he didn't care about some stupid little humans, but he soon found something to look at: angel wings. The girl attached to them was fit; her body writhing and swinging to the beat of the music. The back of her dress dipped low into her back and her long, dark hair swung in front of what Spike guessed were very realistic tattoos. She danced alone, but Spike saw them all looking, longing and hot for the girl with the wings. Spike, too, found himself longing for her, so much so, that he prepared to approach her. He took one last swig of his beer, but before he could leave, he found himself looking at none other than Buffy. "I just saw you over here and thought I would come and say 'hi'," she said. Spike raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. "So... hi."

The image of the angel wings still danced in his eyelids, "Hello, love. Enjoying your party?"

She gave a small laugh, "More like an... I'm broke, and there's nothing I can do about it so I'm getting drunk... party."

He leaned in close to her, taking a piece of her hair in between his fingers, "Sounds like fun."

She seemed uneasy, but didn't pull away. "Not really your kind of party if you ask me"

"Good thing I didn't ask you," he smirked.

Buffy frowned, pulling away from him at that, "You're such an ass."

"What's the matter, pet? I stop kissing your feet and you get all pouty?"

"Kissing my feet?" she spat. "You're an ass _and_ you're demented!"

"Demented?" He laughed, pushing his mouth against her ear, "I'm 'moving on', baby." He brushed past her without another word, satisfaction set in his lips. Now, he replaced her face with another one... a face unseen until Little Miss Wings finally swung around, her eyes looking up to the blue lights. Spike approached slowly, playing as if he were hunting prey and circling at a distance. She seemed uninterested in her surroundings; her eyes were closed and her hips swung slowly from left to right. The lights shining down on her made it look like she was glowing; it seemed as if some light exploded from within her and the air around her thickened with the scent of fresh roses. Her lips were plump and pink; curled into a small smile as if she knew every secret in the world. Spike moved closer, a pinching blood lust throbbing in the back of his throat. He came close enough that he could hear her breathing. He approached her from behind, sliding a hand around her waist, and closing the space between the two of them. Her breath caught, but she let out a sigh seconds later, "You've been watching me."

"The entire world would watch you if you gave it the chance, duck." His voice was just above a whisper, but a smile came to her face, turning to look him in the eyes.

"Who are you?"

* * *

Buffy had returned to her table of friends, but her eyes were still fixated on Spike and his new "friend". She wasn't jealous, no, of course not. She refused to be jealous of some... silly _vampire_ for Christ's sake. No, she was just concerned for him. Yes, of course. This girl could be some sort of... vampire eating demon. _There have been stranger things!_ Buffy looked around, disgruntled because, like Spike, the rest of the club seemed to be revolving around his little girlfriend. Even Xander, with Anya attached to his side, could be seen sneaking peeks across the room. Buffy shook her head as if it would throw the thoughts from her head.

Willow and Anya moved to the dance floor, followed soon after by Xander and Anya. Buffy stayed; her pride sinking into her throat. Alone, she watched Willow and Tara, spinning in slow circles under the blue lights; they each held on fiercely to one another, counting each second with each other as a success. Buffy swallowed the taste of guilt; she knew how much easier her friends lives would be without her, but she she couldn't bring herself to leave them behind. _I need them._

"Contemplating the end of the world?" Buffy turned to the voice at her right; the man that stood before her was tall, the lights coming from behind him and preventing her from identifying his face. He didn't give her the chance either, "Or do you hate these clubs as much as I do?"

She hesitated, "I... I guess I was daydreaming." She smiled, patting the seat that stood in front of him. "You can sit if you like." He took the offer, pulling the seat back and coming into the swinging blue lights. His face was sculpted into hard angles, but something there remained soft; something in the way that his lips curled into an innocent smile. "I'm Buffy."

There was hesitation, just for a second, but the curl of his lips grew into a full blown smile. "I'm Cain."

* * *

Her body writhed against his, their body heat dancing in between them. She turned to face him, her hands sliding up and down his body, grasping for more of him. Spike couldn't pretend he was being pious about his dance partner either. He'd only had one beer, but he felt intoxicated. Everything about her screamed at him, called him to come closer. He found his face at her neck, his lips running softly against her supple skin. He could smell the blood running in her veins, and something wasn't right beneath that ivory skin, but his head was spinning; he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't bring himself to think of anything but the screaming thirst coming from the back of his throat. Her name rang in his ears, but he couldn't say anything, he felt if he let go for a second, she would turn to dust in his arms. "Do you want a taste?" she breathed into his ear. He laughed, she had no idea what she was saying, but... something in her body said she did. She broke away from him and Spike momentarily came out of his trance, but followed when she tugged on his hand. She was leading him out of the club and into the alley. Time was inconsistent to the vampire, first moving very fast and then he was up against the wall, kissing up and down her neck and then it felt like there was a hundred years between each brush of lips. She pulled her face to his, "Take me somewhere."

Spike's eyebrows knitted together, "Wh-"

"Take me somewhere private, and..." she brought his hand to her neck. "I'll let you have a taste."

Spike forgot everything at that moment; he didn't think of some bloody chip in the back of his brain, he didn't question what was happening inside his head, no, all he could see was the promises that screamed at him from those dark eyes. He took her to his crypt, of course, but she didn't seem to have any qualms with the musty room. Instead, she threw him on top of the now empty stone coffin that sat to the side, her eyes practically on fire. She straddled him tight, squeezing his hips between her legs, leaving a trail of scorching kisses down his chest. He pulled her face to his, turning her head to bury his face in her neck; the scent of roses never leaving his nose. She pulled roughly on his shirt, allowing him to roll on top of her. "Do it," she coaxed. Her blood seemed to race under her skin bringing feverish heat to the surface and he fought against the urge to take what he wanted immediately. He felt his face change, hovering about the skin for as long as could before he couldn't stand it any longer. His teeth sunk in easily and there was no pain in his head, only the satisfaction that flowed down his throat. She was sweeter than any human he had tasted, if fact, she tasted almost _inhuman_, but he didn't care now. He took everything until he couldn't take anymore, his body falling limp on top of hers. She laughed, laying him down at her side, "You're strong," she whispered. "You're exactly what I'm going to need."

He laughed back at her, exhausted, "What are you?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Author's Note:** This chapter's a little shorter - I'm sort of using it as a transition, but hopefully, I'll be posting another one later today. Thanks for reading and leaving reviews. -xo

* * *

_You're telling me you're going on a date with a man named... Cain?_

Giles voice rang inside of Buffy's head, giving her a queasy feeling at the bottom of her stomach. _It's just... Buffy, his name is _Cain_ for God's sake... does that mean anything to you? _Her feelings were hurt. Of course they would find something wrong with this guy. She looked over at him, standing at the counter to pick up his coffee. He turned a little, catching her eyes with his making her face go hot, but he only smiled. _How can that be evil? He's like a little puppy._

_I understand that reading isn't your forte, but you really should pick up a book every now and then!_

_Giles, what is your deal?_

_You've never heard of the biblically famous brothers called Cain and Abel?_

_So now a couple of guys from the Bible are coming after me. That's great._

_I just think it's an odd coincidence. Coincidences don't just happen in Sunnydale, Buffy._

She looked to her left again, a smiling Cain approaching with a venti-sized drink in his hands. "Ironically, I spend so much time at coffee shops and all I ever order is hot chocolate," he smiled.

Buffy smiled back, moving her own cup from her right hand to her left, "I'm a fan of the Chai myself."

_You could be in grave danger._

He sipped gingerly, "Not as good as the stuff back home."

"Back home?"

"Yeah, I just came from New York; Albany actually."

"Albany, huh? That's a long ways from little old Sunnydale."

He laughed, "No kidding. I came here to survey some lots for the company I work for."

"Wow, they must be pretty important lots."

"My boss isn't the brightest bulb in the box," he shrugged.

She laughed, "Who's boss is?"

"Well, what about you? I want to know everything."

* * *

"Just think of how much fun we would have! You working for me, me having to do less work, you... not taking any money in return. It's perfect!"

Willow rolled her eyes, not taking them away from the screen of her computer. "Anya, I need the money and you need the help, so stop... arguing and just hire me already!"

Anya slid a book into it's place on the shelf, "Well, if I understand the employee-employer relationship correctly, that tone of voice is just not-"

"Giles!" Willow called, ignoring Anya. "He replied!"

The sound of Giles footsteps clanged down the footsteps, rapidly approaching behind her. She stood, allowing him to take her place in the chair in front of the computer. "Just click that, and... there you go."

Anya came to stand next to Willow, both of them waiting as Giles read silently. "Oh," he said finally.

"Oh?" Anya repeated. "Oh what?"

Giles took his glasses from his face, rubbing his eyes, "Oh, this is not good."

* * *

Spike clung to sleep; to the feeling of her at his side, tracing her fingers over the still-healing burn on his chest. _You're exactly what I'll need._ He could feel his mind returning to him, accompanied by a desperation in his chest. She had left his side long before he woke and now he felt alone again. He opened his eyes slowly, assessing the empty room. His body was stiff and sore, and for a moment he feared that he had dreamed everything. Lifting a hand to his neck, he felt for the almost healed holes there. It was strange; he couldn't remember the one time he had been fed on, but he remembered everything about last night. He sat up slowly, imagining that when he opened his eyes, he would find her sitting at his feet, glowing under some nonexistent beam of sunlight. Instead, there sat a jar of blood and a cigarette laying there. He chuckled, reaching down to retrieve the jar, it was then that he noticed the note; pink lipstick spread across the stone of his makeshift bed.

_I'll be seeing you soon._

He raised the cigarette to his lips and lit it, taking in a slow drag, before laying back against the stone. "I'm counting on it."

* * *

Buffy couldn't believe it. He was _perfect_. Forget tall, dark, and handsome, oh, and the fact that he was totally _normal_; he did business for a major construction company on the east coast, loved to ski, and had a thing for sushi. _How much more normal can you get?_ She walked to the Magic Box with a smile on her face, ready to let Giles know just how wrong he was about Cain. She arrived there late, but the lights were still on and she could see Willow through the glass, her face illuminated by her computer screen. She wrapped gently on the door, signaling to her with a smile, but received a different response from her friend. She ran to the door, unlocking and throwing it open. "We've got news."

"News?"

"Giles! She's here!"

Buffy hurried into the store, concerned, "What's going on?"

Giles hadn't moved from his spot at the table, his hands clasped, and a stack of photos in front of him. "I found the symbol."

"And I'm guessing 'Hey, Buffy, hope you're having a good day' isn't the message?"

"Perhaps you should have a seat." Giles slid the photos in her direction, "I contacted Ethan Rayne, he has the... connections we needed to find the meaning of this symbol."

"And he just handed over the information?"

"Well, it did come with a price, but something told me it would be worth it."

"So let's hear it."

"Well, uh... the symbol comes from ancient Akkadian texts. Not all of it is... decipherable, but I believe I understand the basics. You see this?" His hand brushed over the first photo; the symbol on it resembled an upside horseshoe like the one that had been burned into Spike's skin. "I believe that is the mark for the Slayer - at the time, the first Slayer. Now, I believe that these two markings refer to her death."

"Why is that?"

"The first Slayer was tortured and killed by two siblings."

Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, "So...?"

"So I think that this Abel fellow is one of the siblings, and he's come here to continue his hunt."

"That would make him..." she took a minute to do the math. "I don't know, really old."

"Yes, precisely. He's very old, very strong, and we don't know anything about him. Buffy, we're at a severe disadvantage here."

Willow sat down next to her, "Well... we know that there's two of them."

"Thanks, Will, that makes me feel _loads_ better."

"No, Willow's right. We need to prepare for this. I'll try and research real life Cain and Abel's, but from now on, I think it's best that you don't see this boy until we can be sure that you're safe."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Author's Note:** (WARNING) There is a reference to sexual assault in this chapter and possibly the next few. Thanks to everyone for reading and I'm sorry if that's a problem for any of you. -xo

* * *

Buffy looked down at the open book in front of her, pretending to read, but she just wasn't interested. It didn't make sense to her why Giles insisted on doing this; it was obvious they weren't going to find anything and she could be doing something more productive with her time. Instead, she thought about Cain; she was going to meet with him in an hour, but she hadn't exactly came up with what she was going to tell her friends yet. Irritation tickled at her fingertips; _I'm an adult for Christ's sake. I shouldn't be thinking of some excuse like I'm a child._ As much as she wanted to convince herself that her irritation was really bravery, she still found herself searching for a reliable excuse.

"Oi, what's the Bit doing here? Doesn't it go against your overprotective morals to have her around?"

Spike's voice grated at Buffy's brain; she had completely forgotten he was even there. "Protective is exactly what I'm being," she said through gritted teeth. Dawn look up at her with an innocent smile on her face. "Apparently I haven't stressed to Dawn enough that just because it's halloween doesn't make a vampire costume fake."

"I didn't know he was a vampire!" Dawn rolled her eyes, circling around to the other side of a book shelf to get away from her sister.

"Well, now you know. No matter how cute he is, you _don't_ trust vampires."

Spike crossed over to the table, discreetly dragging a hand over hers. "Never stopped you," he murmured.

"Keep dreaming, Spike," she sighed, turning the page. "It's good for the soul."

"I've told you before," he smirked. "I've moved on, but if it makes you feel better to think about me like that..."

Buffy shot an embarrassed glance towards Xander and Anya, both pretending to read by the register and not paying her or Spike any attention. "Shut up! Just stop bringing 'us' up like we're a thing."

"Sounds to me like a bit of hopeful thinking on your part."

"Oh, please. Don't flatter yourself."

"You know what? The day I decide that _you're_ worth my time again, I'll remember to make a big thing of it, alright? I'll even chain you up for old times sake."

"You're disgusting."

"I try," he smirked.

Giles came down from the top level of the store, a place he had been spending a lot of time lately. "I haven't found any references to a Cain and Abel... actually, there have been no _direct_ references to any Cain's at all, but I found three that might mean something."

Buffy distanced herself from Spike, a satisfied smile on her face. "Nothing about Cain? That is _so_ strange. Really, Giles, I'm just as surprised as the rest of you."

Giles ignored the comment, resting a thick book in front of her. "I believe that we're dealing with a _pair_ of Slayer hunters, so I took to some old records from the Watcher's Council and found three Slayers who were reportedly killed by a pair of vampires. One recorded in 1351, one in 1771, and one in 1926."

"Only three?" Xander scoffed. "Hell, Spike got two, but look at him now, all nice and trained."

Giles cut in before Spike could reply, his patience wearing thin. "Before the reforms were made within the Watcher's Council in 1899, records on previous Slayer's and their deaths were poorly kept. There are hundreds of Slayer's who's deaths have still yet to be explained," he sighed. "Any number of them could have been Abel. These three were very... similar in nature. In 1351, a fourteen year old Slayer named Gabriella was found... hanging on a cross from the rafters inside of a church, her body completely drained of blood." Buffy shifted in her seat uncomfortably, but when she looked at Spike, she saw that he was engrossed with Giles' story, a smile on his face. "In 1771, a seventeen year old Marie Christine du Lac was found in a similar fashion, but instead of a church, she hung like a puppet off of a balcony on the palace of Versailles. Now, that's all the information I would have if it wasn't for a Slayer named Dorothy Singer. In 1926, her Watcher found her hanging in the same fashion in a theatre. Of course, that wouldn't mean anything, but this time, upon inspection of her body, they found that someone had carved 'Abel' on her stomach." Buffy's nose scrunched at the thought. "Her Watcher said that she had been preparing for a battle with a pair of vampires that had been terrorizing her hometown."

"But no mention of Cain's name being... carved anywhere."

"Well... no."

"Great! In that case, I've got to go; we're watching movies at his place tonight."

The population of the room collectively stiffened, still weary of the stranger. Spike's breath caught in his throat and he tried to swallow the jealousy. Giles shut his book and hugged it to his chest, "Are you sure that's a wise choice? We still don't kno-"

"Yes! I think it's fine. Listen, I've talked to this guy and he's _not_ a vampire, okay?" She stood to go, grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. "I can take care of myself."

The room was silent for a moment after the door slammed behind Buffy and Dawn made a move to go as well. "I should probably go too... if I make it home in time, I can convince Willow and Tara to order Thai."

Spike watched Dawn go, the color red burning in the back of his brain. He needed to get out of there, he needed to find _her_; maybe she would let him have a taste again, and he could forget all about Buffy and her little boyfriend.

* * *

Buffy stopped outside of the dark wood door of apartment 5B, taking a moment to check her hair and make sure nothing was in her teeth. It took a few minutes before Cain answered, but Buffy's eyes widened at the statue before her. A shaggy white towel hung from his hips and he ran a matching one through his wet hair. "Sorry, they let me off of work late."

She didn't respond right away, in fact, she wasn't even sure he had said anything at all. His chest glowed under the dim lights of his apartment and the smell of soap and leather wafted out with the steam. "I... uh... I actually think I'm a little early... I think... yes... right?"

He laughed, "Come on in, I'll just go put finish getting dressed." Buffy took a seat on the long leather couch in the living room, inspecting the movies that lay on the coffee table. Cain didn't take long, coming out of his room fully dressed (to Buffy's disappointment). His movie choices weren't exactly what Buffy would have preferred, but they finally decided on _The Wizard of Oz_. She wasn't entirely interested; more interested in Cain's fingers running through her hair. "You need anything?"

She looked down at her fingers, "No... I'm fine."

He leaned over to her, kissing the side of her head, "I didn't exactly pick the best movie."

She laughed, "No, I... love Wizard of Oz... it's my favorite."

He leaned his head back on the couch, "You're a bad liar."

"Yeah." He leaned forward then, taking her chin in his hand and tilting it to his face. The kiss was soft at first, just a brush of the lips, but Buffy placed both hands on either side of his face, pulling him close. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her from her place, and placing her beneath him. She took the opportunity to pull his shirt from his body, wanting to touch his chest, and he happily obliged. Literally everything about him was firm, and he was all around her, grasping at every inch of her. He left a trail of kisses down her cheek and neck, burying his face in her hair. She giggled, his lips bringing goosebumps to the surface of her skin. He bit her softly, right on the scar that Angel had left and her feet went a little cold. His teeth bared down harder and she let out a little gasp. "Just a little too hard," she breathed, but he didn't stop. His teeth sunk further and further into her skin until she could feel blood pooling under her. She screamed, placing her hands on his chest and pushing as hard as she could. He flew across the room, a snarl coming from the back of his throat. "Vampire," she said, holding a hand on her neck.

"No shit," he mocked. "I mean really, Buffy, I thought Slayers were supposed to be _smart_. I thought it was really clever of me, you know? A man named Abel is looking for you, so I'll tell you my name is Cain and it will _really_ freak you out, but... nothing!"

She glanced down to the floor looking for her jacket; she was sure she had stashed a stake in there earlier in the day. "Well, I'm sorry to rain on your parade, but I'm more of a physical person."

"I can see that," he laughed. "Don't get me wrong, I've tasted plenty of Slayers, and I've had my fair share of time between their legs, but never with their _permission_. It was a whole new world!" Buffy threw a fist out to his face, a sharp crack coming from his jaw, but he didn't move. "I didn't plan on this happening so soon, but I just couldn't resist that pulse." She grabbed a lamp from the table, swinging at his head, but he lifted a hand, catching it before it could reach it's destination. "Sorry, kitten, but this isn't the time; we can't do it without her."

Buffy's head was spinning, "What? Who?"

"My sister," he smiled, throwing the lamp to the floor. "She's going to love you... and you can even call her Cain if you want."

* * *

Spike had searched every corner of the Bronze, but she wasn't there. She hadn't left any way to find her and now he _needed_ her. Defeated, he burst through the back door, slamming the door shut behind him. "Spike." The voice came from behind him and his body froze. "I was wondering when I would see you again." He turned and there she was, perched on a box of crates, her face buried in a beautiful and very scared blonde's neck. Spike wasn't surprised, more impatient; a vampire that fed on other vampires and humans? He didn't know anything about her. She lifted her her face from the girls neck, throwing the body to the ground.

He moved forward carefully, "I... could say the same thing."

She laughed, "Yes, I guess it's my fault." She hopped from her throne of crates, her curls bouncing with her body. For a while, he thought he resented her; he _needed_ her and she just left him... she even _said_ she needed him and still she left. Now he just wanted to touch her, take her in every way, and nothing would matter anymore. She frowned, putting a hand to his cheek, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She cupped his face with her hands, looking into the depths of his eyes. "You're lying to me." He was. They both knew it and before he could stop him self, he told her everything. He told her about the chip and about how he was in love with a Slayer and about how he felt guilty because he loved Buffy, but he wanted to burn the world to the ground with _her_. She listened to every word, stroking her petite fingers through his hair and didn't say a word until he mentioned Cain.

"Cain?"

"Yeah, some git that everyone won't stop talking about."

"Idiot..." she muttered.

Spike sat up, his head leaning to one side, "What?"

"His name isn't Cain, he's been trying that one for centuries; his name is Abel." Spike stood up, ready to run. "Don't worry, darling, she's safe. He won't touch her unless he has me."

Spike's mind was racing, he had to find Buffy, but he couldn't walk away either. "And why is that?"

She braced herself for an eerily silent moment, pulling her hand away from his face and crossing them over her chest. "Because he's my brother."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Author's Note:** Sorry I was late with this one, but it took a little studying on my part. The Slayer's used in this chapter are _loosely _based on real Slayer's from the Buffyverse. WARNING: This chapter includes very strong themes of violence.

* * *

_Colchester, England_

_December 1351_

Abel paced back and forth, his eyes repeatedly returning to the heavy oak doors at the front of the room. The cold air was still, but his body vibrated; he could hear her coming, her small feet crunching across the gravel by the graveyard. Abel considered himself an artist, and he always had to send a message with his work. Accordingly, he chose a church in the center of town as his canvas. The doors flew open with a sharp crack, and before Abel could even greet his guest, a sharpened stake flew into his stomach. He winced, pulling it out and turning to his opponent. She was a beautiful blonde thing, small, and no older than sixteen, he guessed. She couldn't have been an actual Slayer for more than a year, but she had learned fast, impressing even the likes of Abel with her skill. Her delicate fingers gripped an axe tightly, her ivory skin turn red from the pressure and the cold. He had seen the axe before; it had been passed from Slayer to Slayer for half a century now. He tossed the stake to the floor, clasping his hands behind his back. "You know, Gabriella, that is a truly beautiful weapon you posses; my sister has been lusting after it for quite some time now."

She moved forward, a scowl of her face. "Where is she?"

"Don't fret, my love, she would never miss this." The girl moved with impressive speed towards him, the axe raised above her head, but Abel was faster. He grabbed the weapon, pulling it from it's route to his neck. "Now, now, is that any way for a _little girl_ to treat her senior?" He reared the weapon back, smashing the spiked metal head into her face. He knelt down beside her, twirling a piece of her long hair between his fingers. "It's such a shame to hurt that pretty face so soon," he purred.

By the time Gabriella had woken, pain screamed at her from every nerve in her body. She let out a hoarse sob, willing her eyes to focus on her surroundings. "Sometimes I wonder if Christ cried when they nailed him to the cross," Abel sighed. She could almost make out his figure in the corner of the room, the pale glow of her axe in his hands. "Does the son of God feel pain?" Her head rolled to the side, ignoring him and focusing on her hand; she could just barely make a thick piece of metal erupting from her bloody palm and again she sobbed. Her sight was slow to come back, but she focused, trying to see past he hair that hung in her face. "It almost hurts to see such an angel cry," he mused.

"There will be other Slayers," she choked out. "You can kill me, but you will never be rid of me."

He approached her quickly, a sickening smile on his face. "That's my aim exactly."

"_Our_ aim," a voice rang out behind him. He turned to see his sister walking towards him, a smirk on her face. In the small amount of time they had been in England, she had completely transformed into the perfect lady, but she wasn't interested in that now; her dark hair hung wildly around her face, a cloak and hood hung over her body, and her eyes almost glowed with hunger from under it. "Brother," she smiled, offering her hand.

"Blythe," he said, planting a small kiss on her knuckles.

She turned to the Slayer on the cross, her musical laugh ringing throughout the room. "Oh, you really have created quite the pretty picture, Abel." She lifted her hand to the girl's face, wiping blood from her cheek and bringing the finger back to her own mouth. "Oh, yes," she moaned. "I forgot how much better they taste when they're young."

Abel smiled, "I have another gift for you." Blythe looked to axe in his hands and her eyes lit up with greedy delight. "Our Slayer brought it for you," he said, as she snatched it from his hands.

Her head turned to the girl, "Then we will reward her." Her hand caressed the soft skin of the child's cheek, and then moved to push the hair out of her face. "With swift death." Gabriella spit on her face, looking defiantly on as though she wasn't in pain. "Oh, child," she cooed. "Don't be angry. Now, you can die in the image of Christ."

The siblings left the girl hanging on the cross naked, strung up from the rafters, and drained of blood; the words '_god is good_' carved into her stomach.

* * *

_Versailles, France_

_June 1771_

Blythe sat up straight on a chaise longue covered in fine China silk, a glass of champagne in her hand. Her waste felt nonexistent in the tight blue corset that wrapped around her body, but she looked as though she was completely at ease. She was a lady in waiting for dauphine of France now and it was important that she embodied the wealth and dignity of the high-class. She spoke, looked, and acted French; her hair was tall and her cheeks were rosy against her light skin. She loved this decade; all sex, champagne, and laughter, it was all a secret that everyone knew but nobody talked about. She was a perfect porcelain doll and had won over most of the French court with her 'charm' alone. She had literally clawed her way into the inner circle of the new dauphine, and now she sat across from another very special lady in waiting named Marie. She was the picture of a goddess where Blythe came from; her cheeks were rosy and her lips were stained red from the berries she ate, her hair was the color of coal and pulled up into a tall stack on her head. Nobody would suspect the she kept a stake hidden under all of the layers of her skirts, but Blythe spotted it within hours of her arrival in the court. They both sat alone in a private room, gossiping over champagne and little cakes; a breeze blew in through the open windows, making the shadows of the curtains dance on the walls. Marie was quite drunk, even Blythe felt a dragging inside of her head, and their laughter pierced the warm air. "A-a-and then she said," Marie slurred. "I don't... undershtand! Wh-what's tha differnsh bet- between crème and eggshell!" They erupted in laughter again, Marie tipping over her glass and spilling champagne on the rug.

Blythe pulled a handkerchief from her brazier, dabbing it on the floor, "You're drunk, Marie!"

Marie gasped for air in between fits of laughter, "I m-may be drunk, but... at least th-there's more champagne!" She leaned forward, reaching for the bottle, but slipped off of her place on her chair instead, landing in Blythe's lap. She giggled, finally getting a grip on the bottle and bringing it to her lips, "Madame won't be happy that we're having such fun without her."

Blythe stole the bottle from her hands, taking a long drink from it herself. When Marie laid her head down at her chest, she took it as a sign from the powers that be that it was finally time. "You've been such a wonderful friend to me," she said, stroking the girls hand. Marie raised her head, her lips curling into a weak smile. "Can I trust you with something, Marie?" The girl nodded her head earnestly, setting the champagne on the table. Blythe raised a hand to her face, bringing it to her own. There lips brushed only momentarily when Marie pulled back, her eyes wide. "Don't be scared," Blythe purred. She knew the girl couldn't resist; it wasn't possible for her to. She leaned back in, and this time, Marie leaned too. Blythe pulled the girl closer, slipping a hand into the mass of skirts. It took a few minutes, but she finally found the stake strapped to her leg. She slipped it out of its leather pouch, sliding it under the couch before turning to the girls neck. She pecked at it delicately, allowing her to stroke her hair. Marie jumped at the first nibble, and Blythe knew what she was thinking; it made the Slayer nervous to have anyone at her neck. She wrapped her arms around her, holding her so she could't run away and nibbled again, waiting for the heartbeat to slow before she made any real move. Slowly, the beats spread out again, and Blythe smiled. She felt her teeth slide out from her gums and into the girl, the sweet taste of champagne filled blood entering her mouth. Marie wrenched away, her face red and her hair disheveled.

"I heard your heart," she gasped. Instead of waiting for a response, she leaned down, pulling her skirts back to retrieve her stake, but came back with nothing. This Slayer was resourceful, throwing a fist behind her to break off a piece of an armoire. Her hand drew back and then forward, the shard of wood flying directly into Blythe's chest, and Marie triumphantly smiled.

That smile fell from her face quickly as Blythe wrenched the wood from her chest. "That is so strange, Marie, because I don't have one."

Abel laid Marie's body down on the stone ground, a light rain coming from the night sky. Blythe had made her attack clean and the girl now only appeared to be sleeping. "Wake her up," his sister said, pulling the hood from her head and onto her shoulders. Her cheek fell to her chest, inspecting the hole in the chest of her garment, "She's _ruined_ my dress; it was a gift from the madame!"

"They always make it harder on themselves," he sighed, running a finger over her cheek. "What shall we do with her?"

She tilted her head to the side, rubbing her hands together. "Wouldn't she make a wonderful puppet?"

He lifted their victim into his arms, dancing around with her unconscious body. "We can put on a show for the entire city to see!"

The siblings waited for Marie to wake up before feeding on her, not enough to kill her, but just enough keep her weak. Abel cut each limb from her body before Blythe sewed them loosely back together with dainty pink thread. It took all night, but this kill wasn't just for them, it was for everyone to see. They strung the girl up from the balcony and were gone before sunrise.

A driver pulled around to the front of the chateau early that morning, the sun still newly born in the sky. A group of four ladies had already been waiting for him by the front steps, and he circled around the coach to open their door. It was then that he saw something unfamiliar dangling from the balcony, but he couldn't make it out from the distance. He helped each lady in the coach before walking quickly up the steps. He assumed he was looking at some sort of flag until he saw the feet. Later on, a maid told him it was one of the dauphine's ladies; none of the women of the palace were allowed to see her body, but the maid had heard from a horse groomer that had helped move her body that each of her limps had been detached and her blood drained. Whomever had done it to the poor girl had carved '_rich as gods, poor as devils'_ into her stomach.

* * *

_Basset, Kansas_

_April 1926_

Dorothy Singer walked through the main square of her small town, approaching a small and recently abandoned theatre that was just a ten minute walk from her home. The windows of all of the houses had been boarded up and people kept their doors closed and locked. The population of the small town had diminished by more than half because of either death or desertion. It wasn't surprising that people were leaving so fast, nobody could come into town any time without risk. The only place you could be safe was your own home, and even those were beginning to mysteriously burn to the ground. She had been tracking a pair of vampires that had shown up a month ago, but was unsuccessful in finding them. She had a plan now; it wasn't her best, but she was desperate. She hid five barrels of blood in the basement of the theatre, hoping that the vampires would be curious enough to inspect the scent. To her surprise, it worked. She hid behind one of the barrels, and just when she thought they wouldn't be coming, she heard footsteps cross the stage above.

It was the smallest town that Abel and Blythe had ever found a Slayer; usually, they moved on to bigger places that needed their help. This Slayer was different though, unable to leave her family, Blythe guessed.

"Where is _that smell_ coming from?" Abel asked, his nose in the air.

Blythe's nose scrunched, "It's not human; I can smell swine."

"Swine in the theatre?" he laughed. "Perhaps we missed a performance of the Three Little Pigs."

Blythe glared at her brother, pushing past him to search backstage. "Quiet!" Something isn't right here."

"Your paranoia ruins all the fun, sister."

She whipped her head around to face him, "Your 'fun' bores me, now be quiet." Abel was restless; it had been half a century since they had had a Slayer and Blythe just wasn't into it like he was anymore. He was hurt by her disinterest, but she only mocked him now. "It's coming from below."

Blythe approached carefully but Abel ran into the room excitedly. "There's blood down here!"

"We know that, Abel. I want to know _why_."

"Witchcraft?"

Blythe shook her head, "I don't sense any majicks in this place; the aura is clean."

Dorothy moved then, tipping the barrel over on the vampires. Blythe shrieked, tumbling over into the mess of blood. Abel threw himself out of the way, studying his assailant after gaining his balance; it was the Slayer. She was an ugly thing; heavy set with red, frizzy hair. He lunged at her, but she was quicker than she looked, staking him in the shoulder. It was a moment of relief for Abel, but it didn't throw his opponent, instead the threw him right into the stone wall. He fell to the floor with a snarl, coming back up with his face changed into a demon's. Blythe rose as well, throwing off her blood covered petticoat to the floor. "That was new!"

It took both vampires to detain the girl. She was strong and well-trained. The battle was so difficult that Abel suggested they kill the Watcher as well so he wouldn't be able to train another. Dorothy had dumped another barrel over his head, smashing the heavy wood down on top of him hard enough to leave him incapacitated on the floor. Blythe was drenched in blood by now and in a final moment of frustration that she had never felt before, she dove at the girl, dunking her head into a barrel, holding it there until her body stopped moving. The siblings were extra cruel to this one; waiting until she woke to rip her apart piece by piece. Her heart continued to beat until they finally ripped off her last limb. This time, they really did have a puppet show on the stage of the theatre, leaving her to be found a week later with the words '_god is abel and willing_'.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Giles trudged sleepily down the stairs, clinging to the rail so as not to fall if he missed a dark step. It was late, almost two in the morning, but even then, the doorbell rang. It was strange, but he'd seen stranger things, hadn't he? Instead of thinking on that, he thought about what sort of git would come ringing his doorbell at such an hour. _Probably just some kids,_ he thought. He flicked on the porch light and (in a moment of unthought common sense) grabbed a small dagger from the table by the door, tucking it into the sleeve of his shirt.

Spike reached to ring the doorbell for the fifth time just as Giles swung the door open, his eyes just barely more than slits on his face. He smirked at the old man, leaning up against the door frame, "Evening, mate."

Giles squinted his eyes against the harsh glare of the vampires radioactive hair. "Looks like I chose the wrong weapon," Giles said, placing the weapon back in it's place.

"Not here to fight," Spike said, throwing his hands innocently. "Now how 'bout you invite me in and discuss what I came here for."

"I didn't have your invitation revoked just to invite you back in," Giles snorted, crossing his hands over his chest. "What do you want?"

There was a giggle that came from behind Spike and for the first time, he noticed the girl behind him. His eyes locked on hers and he felt the overwhelming urge to invite her in for a cup of tea. "I like him," she smiled, her dark eyes piercing through his own. "You said he's the Watcher?"

The look on her face sent chills down his spine and his mind spun away from his body. Giles blinked, forcing his eyes away from hers. "Who is this?"

"This is Blythe," Spike said, putting a protective arm around her bare shoulders. "I've found one of your Hunters."

Giles stepped back, retrieving the dagger again and holding it up in front of himself. "You brought her here?!"

"I'm here to help you," she said, her eyes willing him to come closer again.

Giles shook her from his head, focusing on the ground. "What is she doing to me?"

"The gypsies called me a Siren," she purred. "The very atmosphere around me wills you to come closer to me. You can feel it, don't you?"

Spike leaned down to nibble on her neck, and she let out a quiet laugh. "Spike! Get away from her, she going to kill Bu-" Giles stopped himself; he wouldn't give away the Slayer's identity so easily.

"Don't worry, Watcher. I know her name... I know your name too; I know everything that I need to about this place."

Giles scowled at Spike, his hand twitching to grab a stake he was sure he had hidden on the bookshelf to his left. "Have you no self control?"

"I knew this all before I arrived here," she continued, placing a defensive hand over Spikes chest. "I'm very good at finding out the things I want to know. I happened on your Spike by chance."

"He's not _mine_," Giles growled.

"Nonetheless," she cut in. "I'm not here for your Slayer; I followed my brother here."

"Abel?"

She nodded, "I haven't seen him in half a century, but when I found out he was hunting again, I came to find him."

Giles shivered at the normality of the conversation. "So you could hunt?"

"I tired of hunting a long time ago; I followed him here to get my ax back."

Giles' eyebrows knit together in confusion; nothing either of them were saying made any sense. "What does that have to do with Buffy?"

"I came to find better things to do with my time, but I think my brother believes if he can capture a Slayer, I will come back to him."

Giles rubbed his fingers over his eyes, "How is that?"

"Invite us in, and I'll tell you everything."

Giles sighed, turning back to go the kitchen. He left the door open and the two vampires stood confused in its wake. Giles bent down to reach under his sink, retrieving an axe and a stake from behind the pipes. Upon returning, Blythe looked up at him expectantly, running a sharp finger nail over the contours of her collar bones. "Don't give me a reason to kill you two," he glowered.

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow, "Go on then."

Giles shuffled into his living room only giving a small wave of the hand to allow them to come in. Blythe sauntered in first, pulling Spike behind her by the hand. "Have you ever heard of something called the gem of Amara?"

Both Giles and Spike's heads turned in interest. Visions of Angel's weak and bleeding flesh hanging from chains played behind Spike's eyes. He smirked at the thought. Giles nodded his head, "We recently had it in our possession."

"It's gone now," she said casually, perching on the couch across from the them. "Lost in L.A." Irritation swelled in Spike's gut, of course the nancy boy couldn't keep up with it. "It was my mother's."

Giles eyes widened and he leaned forward. "Amara? That was your mother."

"_No_, my mother was Phaidra. Amara was a goddess she worshipped; the goddess of eternal life."

Spike looked to his right, the ex-librarian's eyes were wide and he could just see the list of questions behind his eyes. He couldn't deny that he wasn't curious either. "Your mother made the ring?"

"All in good time, Watcher." She settled into her seat, evaluating her nails. "I grew up a very long time ago in a city named Corinth."

"Ancient Greece?" Giles asked.

Blythe nodded, "My mother was a... companion to my father; they called them the hetaerae back then. It was a sort of courtesan. I loved my mother, but she was ambitious and had plans beyond me and keeping my father entertained."

"She was a prostitute?" Spike smirked.

She looked at him as though she could set fire with her mind, "Do you want to hear my story or not?" Spike threw his hands up, allowing her to go on. "Mine and Abel's father was a very wealthy landowner. Abel and I shared six other siblings; I was the only one by my mother."

"You were illegitimate." It wasn't a question, Giles had obviously done some reading on the matter.

"I was resented," she corrected. "The other children hated me for the attention I received from my father and I was envied as well; I was allowed to go into the city, I learned things that they would never even know of. They hated my mother and I so much that they threw rocks at us in the courtyards when I had my lessons." She waved her hands in the air as if they were standing in front of her and she could simply turn them to smoke. "Abel was different from them all, and there was a very special bond between us. When I was fourteen, my mother introduced me to three men who called themselves warlocks; it was then that she confided in me her goals of becoming a god. I thought it was silly at the time, but the warlocks were powerful with their combined power. By the time they were ready to complete the spell, I was nineteen and more willing than ever to take my mother away from her suffering; I was to be given to a Spartan within that year and I feared leaving her by herself..."

She stood, pacing in front of the coffee table and rubbing her hands together nervously. "The ritual was complicated and... unlike any I have seen since. It required the compromising of both of our souls. My mother had to do a number of things before I became involved, but once she was immortal, it all became very simple. They bled me on an alter made of human skin and split her immortal soul in two, placing one half inside of me. Then, they cut my heart out and fed it to her on a platter made of silver, and just as the soul inside of me was to die, they fed me her blood."

Spike could hear Giles' heartbeat quicken and he looked over. He was standing. "She turned you."

A sad smile came over her face, "It worked. My mother reigns as a god in her own dimension, but it turns out that the consequences of such majicks were the abomination that lived inside of me; the demon and it's need for blood."

"You're the first," Spike and Giles breathed at the same time.

"The warlock's always said that's why I have the Siren's song."

"What about the Master?" Giles said.

She let out an annoyed growl, "I turned that little weasel in the same month that I acquired my axe. Had I known he would become such a pain in my ass, I would have let the plague have him."

Spike snorted, but Giles didn't seem to be listening anymore, rambling to himself instead. "What about feeding? Sunlight? Stake's don't work, obviously."

She smiled, "The first time I fed, I allowed the demon inside of me to have full control. First, we took the children to the courtyard and I crushed each of their tiny little limbs with boulders, save Abel. I couldn't bring even my demon self to take him, so instead, I left him sleeping in the house. After that, I killed their mother." A sick smile came about her face and she closed her eyes as if to relive the moment. "I spent extra time with her. When I was done, I asked Abel to come be with me forever, he was only eight at the time, but he followed blindly; kissing the cheek that still had his mother's blood on it. The next time I fed, I attacked the city in broad daylight, killing people in there own homes. By the time I was gone, I'd heard rumors of the Spartan warriors coming to their aide." She giggled, "I wish I could have stayed for that.

Unfortunately, the warlocks were ashamed; I felt no guilt but they felt it all and they cursed me so that I would never be allowed to do something like that again; sun would burn me and houses became havens for my victims. They became mine and Abel's unofficial guardians after that."

"So, who made the ring then?"

"A scaled courier came to me one day to deliver a parcel; my mother had sent him from her dimension to restore the powers that were rightfully mine." Giles scoffed. "It is lost now and can bring no harm to you."

"How did you know to turn Abel?"

"For ten years, Abel remained mortal at my side; he fed me when I could find no food, and cleaned up the messes I made. The transition was very hard for me; I felt alone even with him taking care of me, so I demanded that the warlocks help."

"They turned him with majicks as well?"

"Not quite, we performed another ritual; a simple exchange of blood and I bore my first childe. Even in his advanced years, Abel has always acted as a silly fledging, but he's powerful; the gypsies called him 'the seer with short sight', he uses that sense to beat you to your every move. Only I was able to keep him under control for all of that time."

Spike rolled his eyes, "A vampire's a vampire, let's stake him and get it over with."

"An easy task had I not angered the warlocks and the Powers that Be; they now sit as his _and only his_ guardians. They are powerful and very involved in the dark majicks; with their protection, Abel is practically untouchable."

Giles shifted his weight between his two feet; it wasn't possible to allow himself to trust her, but he was in no position to deny her assistance either. "Why would you help us?"

She smirked, "Have you ever heard of the axe of Bjork?"

His forehead wrinkled in thought and he brought his hand up to the top of his nose, "It was an axe possessed by the Slayer Bjork... I believe she came from a viking tribe. They passed it down for some time before it was lost in the fourteenth century."

"Lost to me," she corrected. "It was in my possession for quite some time."

Giles replaced his glasses on his face, his train of thought slowly coming to the right track. "Abel has it."

A snarl came from the back of her throat, "I intend to get it back." She straightened herself, shaking the yellow from her eyes and replacing the scowl on her face with a timid smile. "No harm will come to your Slayer, of course, if she agrees to help me."

"And what if she doesn't?"

"Then I will allow my brother to rip apart everyone she loves before I kill her myself." She approached Giles carefully, lifting a hand to his cheek. "I _will_ get my axe back, Watcher, do not fool yourself into thinking you or any of her little friends are untouchable. You're playing _our_ game now, the only question is whether you want to win or not."

Giles sat thoughtfully for a moment, "What will you do once he's gone?"

"My brother holds something else I want, a gem I gave to him in the early fifteenth century. Similar to Amara's, it allowed him to travel in the sun with me; there's none of the fun immortal trinkets, but it'll have to do. Once I get it, I'll continue traveling as I was before."

"I will agree to this on one condition," Giles said, feigning conviction. She fell back onto the couch, a confident smile playing on her lips and urging him to go on with her hands. "You tell us how we can kill you."

* * *

Buffy stared up at her living room ceiling in a daze, the figures of Willow and Tara above her nothing more than shadows. Her thoughts clashed, but slowly, everything spinning around in her head as though it were on a merry-go-round. Only bits and pieces of how she made it home came to her; _there was a fight and... Abel flew through a window... no... maybe I fell_. One of the girls had ripped her jacket and shirt off to treat the wounds on her stomach and sides; the sound of glass peeling from her flesh loud in her ears. She noticed that she still held what felt like a stake in her hand, but it was much smoother and colder than she remembered any stake she had ever used. "Buffy?" Tara called. Or maybe it was Willow, she couldn't tell. "Buffy are you sure you don't want to go the hospital?" Buffy's head flopped from side to side in an attempt to tell whomever it was no. Her head throbbed, probably from the coffee table Abel had smashed on top of it, but when she lifted a hand to feel the bump, there wasn't any blood. _I'll be okay_, she reassured herself.

Tara and Willow glanced at each other nervously; Buffy had tears running from her eyes, but her lips were curled into a peaceful smile. They locked hands over her unconscious body, both murmuring Latin in sync and closing their eyes. Giles came in then, worry flowing through the lines on his forehead. He stood over the girls, forcing himself to hold his tongue; whatever they were doing, he knew he couldn't disturb them now. Blood soaked spots on Buffy's body began to glow red and then blue, Dawn entered then holding a rather large first-aid kit. She smiled wearily up at the man before kneeling down at her sisters side. "They're taking the pain away," she explained. "It'll help us keep her from falling asleep and it will be easier to clean the wounds."

Giles nodded assessing the now white glowing spots on her body. "What happened?"

"We don't know yet, Tara said the spell should make Buffy lucid enough to speak."

Tara and Willow broke hands then, the light seeping into Buffy's body. Her eyes opened slowly, a week groan coming from her body. "What's the damage?"

Willow exhaled relief, taking the wet cloth Dawn handed both her and Tara. "Mostly superficial wounds... A piece of glass was lodged pretty deep in your stomach and that bump in your head looks like it could grow it's own face, but I think you'll be fine."

Buffy smiled weekly, but didn't reply. Giles took a rag and wiped a few drops of blood from her face, observing his beautiful, broken Slayer in her weakness. He continued to wipe down her face and onto her neck, hoping that the wound he saw there wasn't more glass. With a quick thought, he took that back and hoped it would be glass; anything but what he knew it was. A renewed panic rushed through his veins as he evaluated the deep bite. "Buffy, you've been bitten."

Her shoulders rose up in an attempted shrug and she laughed lazily. "Stupidity has it's consequences, I guess." The group around her exchanged worried glances, but she seemed unaffected by any of them. "Not like it's the first time," she grumbled.

Giles stepped aside to help move her to the couch; lucidity finally coming to her eyes. Though she didn't seem to be in unbearable pain, she still looked uncomfortable as she gingerly touched near the bump on her head. "What happened?"

Buffy let out an annoyed sigh, "You were right, I shouldn't have trusted him."

"Cain?" Willow said excitedly.

Giles cut in for Buffy, a scowl on his face, "There is no Cain."

Buffy's eyes shot to Giles, surprise written inside of them. "You know?"

Giles rose to sit on a chair across from Buffy, and finally revealed everything Spike and Blythe had told him. The occupants of the room, Buffy especially, listened with wide eyes and open mouths. Giles told them every detail he could remember, beginning with the oddity of the hour all the way to Blythe's confession of her sordid past. "She's agreed to help us," he finally finished.

Again, surprise shot through the room. "_Help_?" Buffy scoffed.

"Yes," he said defensively. "When her and Spike came to me last night, I thought they were going to kill me and then I thought they were going to come and find you too, but... they didn't. I still don't want to trust them, but we're not in a position to turn down the help we desperately need, Buffy."

"It's a trick!" Buffy shouted. "Spike found himself a new fuck and now he's helping them."

Dawn frown, stepping closer to her sister. It was so unfair how she treated him, especially after everything he'd done for them. "You know he couldn't do that. Not to you."

"You just expect me to put my friends and family in danger like this?

Giles stared almost guiltily into Buffy's green eyes, "We don't have a choice."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**Author's Note:** I'm splitting my time between this and my newest fic that I'm working on called 'Bound to You'. I won't promise a certain time for each chapter, but I will try to post each one quickly. Thanks for your patience and thanks so much for reading. -xo

* * *

Spike sucked down the thick smoke of a cigarette, the sound of the burning ingredients loud in his ears. Blythe was at his side, striding contently and confidently through the empty neighborhood streets. He frowned, wondering if he felt anything real for the beautiful girl. He wasn't such a ponce to cry over his lady love who messed with his mind, but he couldn't help but wonder what he would think of the girl at his side without the powers she possessed. In a time before Buffy, he imagined he would have lusted after her and the attention she provided him. After years of neglect by Dru's hand, Blythe would have been the sunshine that didn't burn. Buffy changed things though; he had to fight through the fog in his mind just to remember his affection and yearning for her. Blythe looked up to him, a knowing smirk pulling on her lips. "What are you thinking about?"

He took another drag, slowly blowing out smoke before answering. "I'm a minion, ain't I?"

She laughed, taking hold of his hand and swinging it high in the air, "Oh, of all the things I wanted to make you feel, you chose minion."

"If you asked me to do anything right now, I'd do it," he shrugged. "and I don't even really know who you are."

She stopped in the middle of the street, bringing her sad eyes to his and lifting a hand to his cheek. "If I asked you to never speak to me again?"

He kissed the tips of her fingers to the palm of her hands and down to her wrists, "If you asked, love."

She pulled her hand away from him. "Anything you feel for me isn't real," she growled. "You'd do well to remember that."

He blinked, a snarl rising in his throat. "What if it's different this time?"

She began to walk away, "I can fool the mind but I can't fool the body. It's not me that brings heat to your skin." His eyebrows came together, but she didn't give him time to reply. "I'll admit, it's the first time someone has chosen a Slayer over me, but she _is_ quite the soul."

He stopped in his tracks, embarrassment creeping up his throat. "You feel that?"

She turned to face him again, throwing her head back and her hand up in the air. "I can feel everything; all of us, we're connected." She stepped closer to him and the dewey look in her eyes reminded him of Drusilla when she was having a good day. "The sounds and the vibrations and the time that's wearing us all to dust." She ran her fingers over the almost healed bite mark on his neck, "You can feel it too now too."

He grabbed her by the shoulders, trying to shake her out of her trance. "What do you mean?"

Her head lolled from side to side and she blinked lazily, "I gave you the taste of my blood and the eyes of my mother to take away the pain and the ticking in your head."

"The chip?" he asked, still shaking her. "What did you do?"

Her eyes finally focused on his and she shook her head as if to rid the thoughts inside of it. "Feeding on vampires wards off the demons of time from creeping up on me when I'm not looking. A vampire feeding on my blood gives them the razor's edge that they all look for."

"Why would you let me do that?"

"I felt your pain before I even saw you and I never wanted to you to feel like that again... I wanted you. I formed that bond so I could always have that part of you, so even when I leave, I'll still have you."

His stomach dipped and the fog thickened in his head, "You'll leave?"

"Don't worry," she smiled. "When I'm gone it won't sound as bad as it does now." They finally stood in the yard of Buffy's house, and Blythe ran her hand over Spike's favorite tree. "Buffy needs you, and maybe when I'm gone, she'll admit that to herself."

Spike opened his mouth to speak, but Blythe was already moving to the front door, leaning against the doorframe. "Good luck," she murmured.

Spike frowned, but turned to enter the house anyway. He meant to knock, but something caught his attention; the scent of Buffy's blood coming from the inside. He threw the door open, grateful that she still hadn't taken away his invitation to the house. A bloody shirt and jacket sat on the couch and a first aide kit sat to the left of them. He followed the sound of voices to the kitchen where the Scoobies stood around the bar; they all looked to him, the same frown on their faces.

"I so love it when he doesn't knock," Xander scowled.

Giles opened his mouth to speak, but Buffy cut him off. "Where's your friend?"

If looks could set you on fire, Spike would be dust. Her eyes raked at his brain and he shifted uncomfortably. "She... uh... I- I smelled the blood."

"I asked you a question."

He swallowed nervously, "She can't get in, you know..."

"I've just finished explaining the situation to everyone," Giles sighed. "They're not thrilled."

"No shit," Spike muttered.

"You said she's here," Buffy asked, lifting an eyebrow. Spike nodded uncertainly. "Come in then," she said towards the front of the house.

The group shifted to face the doorway, eager to see the big bad wolf. She entered confidently, but the look on her face was serious. She carried what looked like a metal stake in her left hand. "I hope you didn't intend on staking my brother with this," she said, throwing it on the bar.

"Who said I fought your brother?" she glared.

"Who else can do that to a Slayer, but would let her live? That," she said, gesturing to the piece of metal on the table. "is the work of magic."

Willow raised an eyebrow, tentatively leaning forward to evaluate the object. "I can feel it," she nodded. "This is from... the warlocks?"

She nodded, "They can protect Abel even when you can't see them."

"So we kill 'em," Xander shrugged. "What's the big deal?"

"I-if they can make some one a-a god... that won't be as e-easy as it sounds." Tara reached for Willow's hand, tucking it in her lap. "Even if we c-could sneak up on them, how would we k-kill them?"

"They wear medallions," Blythe offered. "They draw their immortality from them, sort of like a vengeance demon. Destroy them, and the warlocks die."

Buffy turned an untrusting eye back to Blythe, looking her up and down. "So we get to them and crush their jewelry?"

She shrugged, "Pretty much."

"And you expect us all to trust you?"

"Do you have any other choice?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

**Author's Note:** After the making of this chapter, I'm thinking about a sequel! I'm really excited and I hope you'll stay tuned for it. As always, thanks for reading and happy Independence Day to those celebrating! -xo

* * *

Buffy dipped her hands into the soapy water of her kitchen sink, searching blindly for the dishes inside. It was late, everyone had already gone home and she wanted to go to bed, but something inside of her knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep. Spike sat behind her at the bar, running his fingers over the sketch of the medallions that Blythe had drawn. Surprisingly, Buffy didn't mind the company, even if it was Spike. Since she had come back, he had been less difficult to be around. "Not spending the night with your little girlfriend?"

He smirked, "Careful, Slayer; jealousy doesn't suit you."

She turned to face him, a scowl on her face. "Don't kid yourself."

He admired from behind, her slim figure shaking as she scrubbed a plate. "She reminds me a lot of Dru sometimes."

Buffy didn't turn, but surprise showed on her face. "How so?"

"She gets this look in her eyes," he shrugged. "She looks right through you and she says strange things."

"It's hard to imagine little miss perfect having mental issues."

"Eternity's a bitch," Spike sighed. They both sat silently after that, the thought meaning two very different things to each of them, Spike realized. Buffy drained the sink, turning to face him; her lips curled downwards and avoiding his eyes. "You okay?"

"Just tired."

"I'll go then," he said, grabbing his duster from the back of his seat.

"No," she said, almost embarrassed. "I'm not going to sleep; I just meant... exasperated."

"You asking me to stay?" He could hear the pace of her heart quicken and reveled at making her squirm.

"Do whatever you want, Spike."

"Don't tempt me." He laughed giddily, and Buffy couldn't help but laugh too. For a second she thought she was going crazy, laughing in her kitchen with a vampire. "You're bleeding," he said, laughter falling away from her face.

She hadn't been sure what he had said at first, but he approached anyway, grabbing a wet rag from the counter. She lifted a hand to her face, feeling at the small scrapes and cuts, but he went for her neck instead. Again he could hear her pulse pick up and heat rose to the back of her neck. He dabbed gently, a smile on his face. "What?" Buffy scowled.

"I might have to ask this ponce for some tips before we do him in," he smirked.

She threw a fist at his stomach playfully, "Watch it."

He threw up his hands, "You're right, you're right; I don't need 'em."

Buffy brought a hand to her neck, feeling for more blood, "Willow told me I should have bandaged it." Her hands grazed just barely over the wound, the blood drying quickly on her fingertips. Spike leaned down over the bite, kissing it gently. It didn't occur to him what he was doing at first, but Buffy didn't do anything to stop him. Pulling his head back to face her, he licked the blood from his lips; he'd forgotten how much a Slayer's blood burned like whiskey down the throat.

She swallowed slowly, hesitation in her eyes. He thought that she would punch him, but nothing in her body language betrayed anything but uncertainty. Again, Spike acted before he thought about what he was doing, bringing his face closer to hers. Their lips brushed gently before she pulled away, panic on her face. "I've been thinking," she said, turning back to the sink.

Disappointment washed throughout him, "Oh?"

"Giles told me that Blythe expects us to let her live when this is all said and done, but I wasn't sure how I felt about that... I was going to kill her, but I've been thinking it... maybe you could go with her instead."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Spike growled.

"You could go with her and... you know, be together. You could keep an eye on her."

"So are you looking for someone to dump me off on or a babysitter for your little problem?" he snarled.

"It'd be easier for us all, Spike."

"You mean easier for _you_?"

She rolled her eyes, "Don't start."

"Selfish bint." He grabbed his duster, ripping the door open and leaving with nothing more than a slam of the door.

Buffy stood staring after him, tears welling in her eyes. She heard the footsteps, but didn't turn to see Dawn approaching the fridge. "Sending him away won't fool anybody."

* * *

Buffy threw her elbow behind her, connecting with the dummy's jaw with a thump. Sweat was beading on her forehead and her muscles cried for a break; she had been working nonstop since Anya opened the shop. She had already broken one dummy in half and now the current one was hanging on loosely to itself. She stood back, admiring her work before going to the weapon's cabinet. She pulled a dagger from it's spot and lined up with the target on the wall. She was a good shot, but her aim was off; the blade landing just outside the bullseye every time.

"Your good." Buffy turned, irritation swelling at the voice. Blythe stood in the doorway, holding an old book in her hand.

"I'm usually better," she admitted.

"You're too tense; relax your shoulders a throw a little earlier."

Buffy scowled but did as she was told, the tip of the dagger gliding effortlessly into the center of the target.

"Very nice," Blythe smiled.

"Did you come here to tell me something or are we just going to chat?"

Blythe laughed, "Come now, Slayer, you can't fight by my side if you're going to be all catty."

Buffy ground her teeth together, fighting the urge to throw a dagger right in her pretty little face. "What do you want?"

"Your Watcher has a beautiful book collection, and I just couldn't help but do some reading." She held up the book in her hands before sliding it to Buffy over the table. "To help protect us, the warlocks bound themselves to my brother and I; they always knew where we were and if we were in danger, but we were always aware of them as well. When I lost their protection, I'm assuming they broke the bond, but I'm sure it's still present between them and my brother. The minute we kill a warlock, I bet my brother will know."

Buffy leaned against the table next to her, picking up the closed book. "So... what? I guess we don't get the element of surprise?"

"Actually, after reading through these books, I found the binding spell that I think they use; it's more about energy then physical being. I'm thinking if we can get your little witches to help, we can trick him."

"You want to bind Willow and Tara to bind themselves to your brother?"

"Like I said, its just their energies; they wouldn't be in danger and Abel wouldn't know the difference."

Buffy opened the book to the marked page, reading through what she could understand. "I'll ask them, but if they say no, it's final." Blythe shrugged, approaching the weapons cabinet to browse it's contents. "What are you doing?"

"I'm stuck here 'till the sun goes down," she said, throwing a finger to the window. "Spike's little blanket idea is cute and all, but really just not my style."

Buffy cringed at Spike's name, guilt boiling in her stomach, and Blythe seemed to read her mind. "He asked to come with me, you know. It was the strangest thing because... well, we all know how he feels about you."

"That is strange," Buffy lied, heat rising to her cheeks.

Blythe moved closer to the sound of her racing pulse, a predatory smile on her face. "Don't you just hate those feelings? They creep and crawl all over your skin like bugs, clawing at your brain, and all you can is pretend you don't feel it even when everyone's just begging you to scratch at them."

"You don't know anything," Buffy growled. "You don't _feel_ anything."

"Oh?"

"You wear those angel wings on your back like they mean something, but you're not fooling anybody. You're nothing but a demon, an abomination."

Blythe walked to the door, stopping just before exiting, and Buffy swore she could see a shiver run through the tattoos on her back. "Angels and demons are nothing but words, Slayer. They don't mean a damn thing."

* * *

"You're sure you want to ask this of them?" Giles paced nervously back and forth in Buffy's kitchen, the rest of the gang sitting out in the living room.

"If Abel knows the warlocks are being killed, then he might retaliate. He can't know what we're up to." Buffy knew the consequences of asking Willow to participate in such a strong spell, but she didn't see any other choice; Tara just wasn't strong enough on her own.

"Yes, well, perhaps we should warn Tara beforehand."

"We don't have time, Giles, we just... it'll be fine."

Giles was not entirely convinced after the whispered argument, but ultimately agreed to ask them any way, so long as they approached the matter with caution. "We need you to do a spell," Buffy said. "A big one. We don't have a lot of time and we need to work fast."

"So much for caution," Giles muttered.

The girls opened the book, studying the contents of the pages. "This is some s-strong stuff," Tara said, trying to smile. She glanced at Willow, who stared at the page happily. "I-it m-might be a little... dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Willow laughed. "This is cake!"

Xander moved closer to her, putting a hesitant hand on her shoulder. "Really... sugary cake, Will. Cake you don't want to eat too much of if you know what I mean."

"What are you talking about? Tara and I can totally do this, it'll be fine."

Tara shot a weary eye towards Giles, "It'll be f-fine. We'll just have to take it slow, right Willow?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

If things were going as they should, you would find Willow and Tara sitting in the Magic Box, surrounded by a circle of virgin's blood. Xander would be laid in between them with his hands slit open. Giles, though Willow wasn't aware, stood guard over her; prepared to intervene if she got carried away. Anya sat in front of her cash register counting and recounting her money, though she was supposed to be keeping an unyielding eye on Dawn, who was fixated on the ritual before her. _The ritual is specific and must be done at the very right second_, Blythe said. _You two will have to connect telepathically to know when and where to strike. The very second we crush a medallion, you must forge the bond; not a second before or a second after. I've had a couple of... friends keep eyes on my little family for quite some time now; they've learned nothing from past mistakes. Once we establish a connection with one, we will find them all._

They found the first at a bar Spike frequented to play poker; the bar he had first met Abel. The few that sat within paid him no mind, their inhuman eyes focused on their drinks. Blythe followed behind him, a ferocious snarl erupting from her throat at a figure sitting at the bar.

"Blythe," he said, finishing off his drink. "Oh, how I have missed that beautiful face."

"Heath," she growled.

He turned to face them, a confident smirk on his face. Buffy was shocked; she had expected an old man, but this boy was no older than nine. She glanced at Blythe, who's face held no shock or surprise at the beautiful young face. He smiled, but their was no evidence of happiness in his face; blackened veins showed from under his skin and the entirety of his eyes were consumed by darkness. A rounded piece of gold hung from his neck, and she could feel Tara and Willow stir within her head. "Abel said you sided with a Slayer, but I just couldn't find it in my self to believe it."

"You always did say I was selfish," she said, her fists clenching.

"You are _nothing_ but a disgrace!"

Blythe dove towards him so fast that there was a pause before Buffy and Spike joined her. The demons around them didn't even give them a second glance; bar fights were more regular than drinking was in that particular bar. They struck the ground with a crash, Blythe digging her claws into his eyes. Buffy flinched at the child's cries and blood shot into the air, a warm drop landing on her cheek. "My baby," Blythe cooed, licking the blood from his face. "You underestimate how much of a disgrace I can really be." She lifted his body to the bar and ripped the medallion from his neck, thrusting it into Spike's hands.

He threw a hand blindly out in front of him, catching Blythe's ear with a crack, "You left me! You know how they are and you left me!"

She smirked, shaking the ringing from her ears, "Good thing I'm going to kill them too." Her hands plunged into his chest, ripping the small heart from within. "Now!" she called. Buffy jumped, grabbing the medallion from Spike's hand and snapping it in half. Heath's face and body began to change slowly, each year passing through his face until finally he was nothing but a pile of dust.

"Wow," Buffy said, her eyes wide. "That was..."

"Easy," Spike finished, dragging a finger through the dust.

Blythe shrugged, tossing the heart into the small bag at her side. "I wasn't expecting anything more; Heath was never a fighter."

"You did _not_ just put that in you bag," Buffy scoffed.

"Black market," Spike smirked. "Right?"

* * *

Willow and Tara breathed deeply, the shared power surging through there veins. They stared at each other with black eyes, the only conversation happening within their minds. Xander was unconscious before them, every drop of his energy being spread as a shield over them.

_We found one_, Willow's warped voice rang throughout Spike, Buffy, and Blythe's heads. _There's lights and lots of people._

"The Bronze," Buffy nodded.

"We used Pyramus as our muscle; he took care of the things we didn't want to bother with."

"Should we be expecting another toddler?" Spike smirked.

"Expect a man who can kill you with his hands just as easily as with his mind; he can do stuff I've never seen."

"Please, I've fought worse than some stupid witchy-boy." He flinched at the loud _Spike!_ that rang throughout his head, "Sorry, Red."

By the time they arrived at the club, it was late; the older crowd had already arrived and the music was playing loud. _Look up_, Tara whispered. Doing as told they were told, they found a couple dancing on the balcony.

"He'll know we're here, but he doesn't know we're together; let's split up." Buffy and Spike nodded, crossing to the back of the room while Blythe went directly up the stairs. As she approached, Pyramus smirked at her from over the girl's shoulder, running his hands over her body. She pulled her away from him roughly, sliding into her spot in his arms. "Feeling desperate?" she said, looking back to the angry girl that was stomping away.

"What can I say? My best girl goes berserk and I do too."

She laughed, "Well, I wouldn't want some little tryst with my brother get in the way of us."

"Really?"

"No," she shrugged, pushing his body across the room. His black eyes shot up at her and pain bled from every single pore in her body.

Buffy and Spike arrived just as she fell to the floor. "Shit," he muttered.

Buffy dove at his back, pulling a dagger from inside her jacket. Just as the blade pierced his skin, time seemed to stop and the music faded; everyone in the Bronze disappeared. "I knew I smelt a Slayer," Pyramus growled, ripping the blade from his back.

"I'm trying this new shampoo," Buffy said, running at him again. Her fist cracked across his jaw and he flew down to the floor. His eyes came up to meet hers, the air around her catching fire. _It's all in your mind_, Tara soothed. _Just get the medallion_. Buffy got awkwardly to her feet, hoping to distract him while Spike grabbed him from behind, throwing him over a table. Blythe grabbed a dagger from the bag at her side, sweat beading on her forehead from the pain. She managed to get the dagger in shoulder, the pain temporarily subsiding enough to bring her to her feet. Buffy crawled to him, running her hands over his chest to find the medallion. He caught her by the arm just as her fingers brushed over the metal, "What do you think you're doing?"

She smirked, closing her hands over the medal, "My job." The metal broke easily in her hands and she toppled over on a pile of dust. The noise returned to the room as did the crowd, leaving the three of them breathing heavily on the floor.

"I liked the first one better," Spike gasped.

* * *

"Well, this is unexpected," Buffy said, staring up at the lit up mansion before them.

"My brother and I have an affinity for foreclosures," Blythe shrugged.

"Should we be expecting him anytime soon?"

"I'm not picking up his scent, he'll probably be out for the night."

_He's somewhere downtown_, Willow said.

The group approached the house silently, opening and closing the door behind them cautiously. Blythe gestured at the ceiling above them. _He's performing some kind of spell_, Willow said. _Something big. If you're quick, he won't even see you coming._

Without a second thought, the group raced up the stairs, bursting through each door they saw. Buffy was the one to find him; he faced away from the door, surrounded by a red powder. "Well, he sighed. "I've never dealt with a Slayer face to face."

"So maybe you should turn around," she countered.

"Don't go near him," Blythe warned. "He was expecting us."

"Or I'm just paranoid."

"Enough of the chit chat!" Spike roared, hurling a chair at him. It broke midair, the pieces flying back at them.

"How did you not expect that?" Buffy grunted, pulling herself from the floor.

He rolled his eyes, impatience picking at his nerves. "I'm not waiting for this bloody git to come out of a stupid circle."

_Exstinguo et exarmare_, Willow whispered.

_Willow, stop_.

Her voice grew louder in their heads over and over until they couldn't tell whether it was just in their thoughts anymore. The warlock turned to face them angrily, blood falling from his black eyes, "That is a very talented warlock you've got working for you."

Buffy grabbed a broken piece of chair from the floor hesitantly throwing the makeshift stake at him, piercing the center of his chest. "I think you mean witch."

"Very nice," Blythe smiled. They dashed towards the elderly man with their makeshift weapons at the ready as he pulled the wood from his chest. His reflexes were slowed but he was still able to pull a strip of lightning from his fingers, the bulb striking Buffy in the chest. She gasped, falling backwards as Blythe and Spike landed on top of him. Spike struck him in the face, bringing his fangs down to his neck. Blythe held him back, "Go to her."

He stood slowly, shaking the demon from his face and falling back to the floor beside Buffy. "Holy shit," she breathed.

He laughed, examining the wound on her chest, "You alright, love?"

She nodded, "I just need a minute." After a moment of hesitation, he kissed her forehead and she had to swallow the guilt that swelled in her gut again.

"Don't," she whispered. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

"Goodbye, Zachary," Blythe said, taking the cold metal in her hand.

He smiled, lying back in his circle. "You were the biggest mistake I ever made. You and that whore of a mother."

Rage rose to her fingertips, forcing the medallion through his forehead before breaking it off within him. "She sends her love."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Spike rose awkwardly, a frown on his face. Rejection fizzled in his stomach and he stepped away from Buffy without saying a word. She glanced at him, but quickly looked away, pulling herself up and straightening her jacket. Blythe ran a hand through the soft dust on the ground in front of her, mixing it with the powder Zachary had drawn around himself. A shiver ran down her spine and her head snapped up towards the door, "He's here."

"Abel?"

She gritted her teeth together, "I can feel him."

_We'll hold the bond for as long as we can_, Tara's voice rang out. _We can't put Xander through this for much longer._

Buffy looked around for a new weapon, something suitable to kill a vampire. Two swords hung crisscross on the wall and she ripped them down, wielding both in each hand. They were too light, too... "They're decoration," Blythe said, finishing her thought. "My brother and I aren't fans of keeping our weapons in plain sight; some call it paranoia, I always called it playing smart."

"Fine," Buffy huffed. She turned her attention to an old but ornate painting hanging by the door, ripping off one side and breaking it into two sharp points.

"That was a gift from King Charles himself!" Blythe scoffed. "It's over a century old!"

Buffy weighed the chipped golden wood in her hands, "I'm sure he won't mind now."

Blythe rolled her eyes, knocking the remnants of the painting to the ground; a large dagger hung on the wall behind it. "The other paintings are too small to hide anything," she shrugged. She reached down to pick up the hem of her dress, ripping a large piece of black fabric off with ease. Covering her hand with it, she bent down to retrieve dirt out of the large potted plant beside her and handed it to Spike. "It burns the skin," she explained. "It won't do much, but it'll distract Abel."

"It's not like I need a weapon anyway," he pouted. "I've got my fangs and my fists and that's all I need." He dipped his finger into the fabric with a doubtful eye, but the dirt clung to his skin and the heat of fire shot through his hand to his elbow. He ripped his finger out of the pouch, holding it as far away from his body as his arms would allow. Buffy snickered, "Does _Big Bad_ need to stay behind and nurse those burns?"

He rolled his eyes, "Let's just get this over with."

The three walked silently through the halls, though Blythe knew that Abel would be able to sense her as well. When they arrived in the foyer, he was waiting for them; sitting on a chair framed with gold, staring into the empty fire place. Blythe's eyes fell to his lap which housed her ax, his fingers running back and forth over the blade. "My sister," he grinned, still not looking at them. "I do hope the rumors aren't true; that you'v brought this Slayer as a gift and you haven't actually lost your mind. Tell me, you haven't quit your special little _diet_, have you? You know how badly that fairs for your mind."

The hairs stood up on her skin and a low snarl came from the bottom of her throat. "So happy you were able to retrieve _my_ ax; I've just come by to pick up."

He took the weapon in his hands, gripping the cold metal tightly, "I just love the poetry of slicing you in half with your own weapon; even better, one that used to grace the hands of a Slayer. The story will be told for as long as this planet exists."

Buffy pushed past Blythe and Spike, running a hand over the cold wood of the rail as she walked down the stairs. "You know, I love poetry just as much as the next girl, but it's getting late and I have an early job interview that I need to rest for." What she said was true; each warlock had taken more time than anyone had originally realized, and it was closing in on sunrise. "Let's save the catching up and get to the killing-you part."

He stood to face her, tossing the axe at the ground near her feet, allowing her to pick it up and toss it backwards to Blythe. She caught it, a proud smile on her face as she squeezed it in her hands, "Let's dance then." She came to stand by Buffy, followed by Spike; their weapons braced for the fight. Spike glanced awkwardly around the room, searching for some other weapon aside from dirt. A few painting much larger than the previous room hung from the walls and he edged towards them as the girls closed in on Abel.

Blythe leaped towards her brother, flying through the air with the butt of her ax raised; it smashed across his face with a sharp _crack_, and her body fell on top of his. His face morphed as it came back to face her and he dug his claws into her sides, throwing her body across the room. She let out a yelp as her body landed over a decorative coat rack, one of the metal hooks breaking off in her lower back. Spike ripped each painting from the wall, finding nothing but wall behind them.

Buffy reached Abel just as he pulled himself from the ground, his fangs bared. She kicked her foot rowards his head and his hand caught it in midair. He threw it in the opposite direction and her body spun through the air. She caught her self easily on her feet and propelled her body in between his legs. She thew an elbow behind her, catching him in the back. He stumbled into his sister who's face had also changed, she jabbed the hook into his neck and he yelled out. Buffy came up behind him and grabbed him by the neck, throwing him into the fireplace. He climbed out awkwardly, licking the blood from his lips and grabbing the firepoker from his side. His arm drew back behind him and released it in Blythe's direction; catching her in the neck, the momentum pulling her into to wall and pinning her there. He let out a sadistic laugh, "You always did tease me for my aim, and I'll admit, I was aiming for your head." She choked in response, blood falling from her mouth and onto her chest. Spike's eyes widened and he ran to her side, grasping the poker with each hand. Her panicked eyes glanced from him to the battle going on before them and her axe fell to the floor. She put her hands over his, urging him to pull it out faster. "It's stuck!" he shouted.

Abel reached out to grab Buffy by the neck, missing and taking a punch to his face. He stood his ground, reaching for her again, this time pulling her to the floor. Her eyes widened under his arms as she realized that she would have better luck getting out from under a boulder. He leaned over her neck, taking in the scent from her skin and the sound of her pulse in her veins. He broke the skin gently with his teeth, allowing the blood to flow into his mouth instead of taking it all at once. That was another piece of poetry he was loving as well, a Slayer giving herself to him instead of him having to fight it out of her. It was a whole new world. Buffy let out a loud guess, struggling against his mouth. He laughed, "You're shocked? I'm the biggest bad you'll ever meet." The smile fell from his face and into a pained grimace and Buffy could see the shining metal sticking through his shoulder. Abel let out a tortured howl, wrenching the firepoker from himself. He fell beside Buffy, clutching at the bleeding wound, "What is that?!"

Spike laughed, throwing the empty makeshift pouch to the ground beside him, "Actually," he corrected. "_I'm_ the big bad and that's my fucking Slayer you're slobbering on." Buffy grasped at her wound, pulling herself to her feet and coming to stand next to him. Blythe knelt at his feet on the other side, spitting out more blood on the floor in front of her. She glanced towards the window, pulling the ax towards herself and gripping it tightly. Her brother lay on the floor, his blood burning as it flowed throughout him. She approached him angrily, blood falling from her chin to the floor. "You think you can beat your big sister?" she snarled, taking the backside of her weapon and smashing it into his groin. "You think I take care of you after all these years and I won't learn all of your pathetic little moves? I'm stronger than you, faster than you, and _smarter_ than you. I created you and I'll kill you just as easy."

He backed up against the wall, clasping his crotch in one hand and his shoulder in the other. "My own sire would kill me?"

"It's been a long time coming."

"You were always jealous of me," he hissed. "You're mind started blowing away with the wind, but I was still strong even in my greatest weakness. You _needed_ me and that just drove you crazy."

"Don't flatter yourself," she growled. "I've was crazy long before you came along, you son of a bitch."

"Let's leave mother out of this," he teased. "Unless it's yours, I could talk about her for hours."

She snarled, ramming the head of her weapon into his nose, "You should be thanking me you little rat."

"For creating me or killing me?"

"You existence was a plague in life and death, so I guess it doesn't really matter."

"Kill me then," he said. "Run you precious little axe through my neck."

"I'm not dumb enough to think you'd just let me kill you without a fight."

He laughed, "We were destined to kill each other, love. Are _you_ ready to die?" She raised the ax above her head, forcing it down on his wrist. He stifled a scream, biting his bottom lip as his hand rolled away from his body. "That won't do, sweetie. It really has been a while since you've fed, hasn't it?"

She picked up the hand from the floor taking a loose vein into her mouth, "You're right. It's been too long since I've had the good stuff." Buffy crinkled her nose behind them both, but Spike stepped forward, his interest peaked. "You're blood was always so sweet," she smiled. "Made me feel warm enough to be mortal." She lifted the hand to examine it, feigning surprise at the ring on his cold finger. "Oh!" she squealed. "I know just how to handle you now."

"And how is that?"

She slipped the ring from his finger and onto her own, holding it in front of her face to admire it. There was a moment of silence before he finally began to understand what she was doing. The sun peaked over the window, landing directly on the top of his head. He struggled, held down by his own sisters foot. Slowly, his hair caught fire, followed by the skin of his forehead and his eyes. He burned until it finally reached the bottom of his neck, and then he was dust. "Nice seeing you again."

Buffy rubbed her bloodied hands on her pants, "Well, that... went better than expected."

Blythe stepped into the sunlight, a smile on her face. "Very poetic."

* * *

Buffy lounged on the couch, flipping through a magazine. "Sorry, Britney," she mumbled. "but green just isn't your best color."

A knock came at the door and she rolled her eyes playfully. She went to unlock the door, "Willow, you have to stop forgetting your k-"

"Hello, pet."

She glared at Spike from across the threshold, "What do you want?"

"Just taking a stroll, thought you might be thinking about me."

"Not even in hell," she sneered. "What do you _really_ want?"

"Came to say goodbye," he shrugged, smashing the end of his cigarette on the bottom of his boot.

She frowned, "What do you mean?"

"It's generally what people say to eachother when one or both of them leaves a common place or area."

She opened her mouth to say something sarcastic until she realized just what he meant. She opened herself up, allowing him to enter the house, he walked in quietly, any hint of the usual cockiness left outside. "Where are you going?"

He smashed his hands into the pockets of his duster, uneasiness building between the two. "We talked about Spain... maybe Italy."

"We as in you and Blythe?"

"That's what you wanted isn't it?"

She hesitated and he could here the beating of her heart speed up. He took a step closer only for her to take two back. "It's what I want."

"Right then," he said, rolling his eyes. "Is Dawn here?"

"Dawn?"

"Yes, Dawn. I came to say goodbye, remember?"

"Oh," reality hit her like a train on the tracks and blood rose to her cheeks. "She's um... not feeling well, she's been in bed all day."

"Do you mind?" he said, gesturing towards the stairs.

She sat slowly back down on the couch, nodding her head. He turned without another word, and disappeared up the stairs. She leaned back, urging herself to look casual, pulling the magazine back into her lap and opening it. _This is what's right... right? Right. This is best; he'll go away and I won't be so... distracted, and... this is best._ Denial boiled in the pit of her stomach and she slammed her head into the cushion behind her. _Goddammit_.

Spike knocked quietly on the door to Dawn's room, a quiet _Come in_ coming from inside. Hunched over a notebook and scribbling intently, she glanced up at him with a lazy smile and a sniffle, covering the her writing with her hand. "It smells like a sick person in here," he said.

"Don't you just hate that?"

"Try smelling it with a nose like this one."

She laid back, hugging her journal to her chest, "What are you doing here?"

He ground his teeth together, picking up a picture of Buffy and Dawn from her dresser. It looked like they were both laughing, their smiles wide and their noses scrunched. Buffy's head fell back into the sunlight, her golden locks falling in curls down her back. Dawn leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around her sister. It must have been before Joyce died, that kind of happiness just didn't exist afterwards. He laid the picture carefully back down, turning to face the questioning face. "I'm leaving."

"Leaving?"

"Buffy thinks it's best if I get out of town."

"Since when do you do whatever Buffy says?"

He glared down at her defiant face, her blue eyes glowing against her sickly skin. "I want to leave," he lied.

"With Blythe?" He didn't answer, plopping down in a chair across from her. "You do realize that she's technically the bad guy too, right?"

"You're not talking me out of this one, bit."

She huffed, looking away from him, "Where?"

"Someplace in Europe, I suppose."

She raised an eyebrow, turning an interested eye towards him. "Will you bring me something back?"

Guilt tore through his stomach, and he finally couldn't ignore what he had been all day; he might not be coming back. "I'll try."

She turned to wrap her arms around him, hiding the tears that were threatening to escape. His body tensed and he didn't return the hug at fist, unsure of how to react, but he couldn't resist and he found his arms drawn to her warmth. "Everything will be alright, nibblet."

He attempted to leave quickly, almost running to the door without a word to Buffy. "Wait!" she called, dropping the casual act to catch him before he made it out the door.

He stopped abrubtly, biting his lip and turning around, "Yes?"

"I don't know... I just... goodbye."

He smirked, "Don't tell me you'll actually miss me."

"Not even in hell," she smiled.

"I can always come back, you know. If you ever need-" He stopped himself, realizing he had placed a hand on her arm.

She looked down at it, not pulling away and ignoring the feeling screaming in her stomach. "No, this needs to happen."

He sighed, turning to leave when he realized that his own hand didn't follow. Buffy stood there, holding his hand to her arm. She pulled him closer to her, bringing her other hand up to his face. "Goodbye, Spike." It was just barely above a whisper, but it didn't matter because before she could finish that breath he brought his lips to hers. It was a soft, lingering kiss and for a moment, neither of them were sure that goodbyes were necessary anymore. When they pulled away, Spike could see the decision had been made and he stepped away from her. He lingered for a moment, praying she would say the words, but instead she pushed him away. He let go of her and walked slowly away, shaking her scent from his head.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I will now take the time to apologize for my _awful_ combat writing. I've never done anything like it and it definitely took some getting used to. Thanks for reading! -xo


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Spike couldn't say he was entirely unhappy; the first month was difficult to sit through without Buffy or the fight for good. He'd find himself wandering around the city at night, leaving Blythe in their bed to look for a good fight. But soon enough, the vision of Buffy faded and he began to enjoy himself as best he could. They chose Italy, staying in a town just outside of Rome. Their apartment was inhabited by young couple named Florence and Alec, and Blythe was so fond of them both, she kept them alive. Turns out, she learned a thing or two from those warlocks before they disowned her, and she was able to keep the couple nice and docile with a little bippity-boppity-boo. _You're not to kill them, Spike. They're here to keep up alive and as far as they know, there's nothing out of the usual with us here. They_ want_ to feed us... to take care of us now. Do you understand?_ He didn't like the prospect of sharing at first; memories of the last foursome he was apart of plaguing his thoughts, but Blythe was very... attentive and he soon forgot those memories.

Alec worked with the men at the US embassy and Florence sold her paintings in a little square by the apartment, leaving Spike and Blythe alone most days. She spent those days convincing him that life would go on. On rainy days, when the clouds hung heavy in the sky, they would cover up and take walks around the city then wait until nightfall and make love on the shore. She allowed him to feed from her, and her blood set his mind on fire and made his heart beat. He was stronger and faster then he had ever been; he could feel her running throughout him and her power became his. In return, he volunteered his blood to her; turned out whatever made up a vampire's blood was healing to her. As time ate away at her mind, she needed it to keep sane. It wasn't enough to keep either of them alive by a long shot, so they fed from their roommates... among others. Not only did her blood gift him special abilities, but it did something to the chip in his head, and he could bite again.

It was hard at first; he imagined Buffy sitting on his shoulder, whispering obscenities in his ear. _Stop it_, she would whisper. _You're hurting her... you're hurting me!_ He would get angry then, smash things and beg her to get out of his head. Blythe would sit idly by, allow him to scream until he was on his knees and he couldn't hear her anymore. She would offer her Florence's neck again, and the girl would smile and pull the long curls away from her own neck as though she were offering a gift. It got easier though, and soon Buffy was nothing but a tugging feeling at the back his brain; she was as quiet as the chip.

There was one particular night club they preferred to visit. Demons and humans alike gathered in the sewers to dance under the flashing lights. The humans were easy to find and to feed on, but Blythe warned to never kill them. "Have a taste and movie on," she ordered. "You'll get your fill and there won't be a mess to clean up." She was smart, and he realized how this life had never been unfamiliar to her. She'd lived that way since the beginning, and he realized that he was playing the part of Abel. That wasn't so bad, she'd become a Drusilla for him and he'd forgotten how good he was at taking care of the one who needed him. They were necessary to each other's existence, and now Spike finally got what he was looking for; attachment.

Blythe dragged her hand up his leg and waste, all the way up to his neck and gripped him to her tightly. Her back was to him and her hips wiggled and swayed with his, their bodies merging into one. He leaned into her neck, the scent of roses filling his nose and he burrowed deeper into it, putting his mouth over the holes that already waited on him. Her blood was as sweet as always and he could feel the lights around him growing warmer and brighter. He pulled away, running his hands over the scars he had once thought were tattoos on her bare back. She explained that they were given to her as a punishment; Pyramus carved them into her back with the tooth of a sluggoth demon. "He was quite the artist," she said. "He was always very posessi- er... protective of me; they all were. I went through a period where I blamed them for my estrangement from society and from the gods I worshipped. Pyramus said it was my destiny; that I was the angel that the gods never wanted, and they all just delivered me faster." Something about the teeth they used kept the wound fresh, never bleeding but never healing. It was beautiful.

She turned to face him, kissing his lips softly and grabbing the nearest girl by the wrist. She didn't hesitate as Blythe pulled her hands to her sides, offering the girls neck to him. "Go on," she breathed. "Have a taste."

* * *

Spike made it back to the apartment just as the sun peeked over the horizon; Blythe was having a bad night and demanded he go out without her. He spent most of his time at a small bar inhabited mostly by demons; he made a nice profit off a couple rounds of poker and drank himself into a dizzy state of mind. He didn't realize how drunk he was until he stumbled out of the bar, the dim light of day replacing the ink of night. It took a bit of tipsy running on his part, but he was able dive into the building just as the situation got critical. Granted, he'd have to make it through the small plaza that sat in the middle of the building, but to his relief it was still covered in shadows. He shut the front door quietly, slipping out of his duster and throwing it onto the chair by the door. Peaking into their room, he found nothing but an empty bed accompanied by a mixture of his and her things scattered across the floor. Blythe had always been very meticulous and kept their things organized; it must have been a really bad night.

His head turned in the direction of the kitchen; he could hear footsteps moving from left to right, followed by the sound of running water. He walked quickly through the hallway, having to stick to the wall to avoid the sun as he approached the kitchen. Instead of finding Blythe, he found Alec, cleaning blood from his neck. He could see that the bite was deep, deep enough to leave more than just two holes. Alec turned a lazy smile towards him, dabbing the rag gently over the wound. "Where is she?" Spike demanded.

He smiled, "Our girls are having a bath."

He walked across the house to the guest bedroom where Alec and Florence nicely offered to stay. The heavy silence was interrupted by a quiet humming; Blythe's voice rung out in a melancholy waves, bouncing off the tiles that lined the walls. He pulled the doors open slowly, fear that she may have hurt herself settling in his chest. The scent of blood wafted out of the room and he felt his mouth water. Red stains on the clean white tile stood out, but Spike's eyes fell immediately on Blythe. Her dark hair was mussed and several strands had freed themselves from the silky braid it had been the previous night, her lips were stained red, and her eyes turned dreamily to him. "Ma cheri," she said, turning back to the project in front of her. Florence's back was to her, her head hanging lazily in front of her and her arm draped over the edge of the bathtub; an open wound gleamed on her wrist, dripping blood on the floor below. Blythe ran her hands gently through the girls soft strawberry blonde hair, picking up her song again.

"Bly," he said quietly. "Are you okay?"

She leaned her ear against Florence's back, "The clock still ticks."

He listened for her heart and he could hear a faint beat beneath her skin; it wasn't likely that she would die, but she wouldn't be good for anything for weeks. He pulled her frail body from the water cradled it against his chest. "Alec," he called, carrying her to her room. He laid her down gently, pulling the towel from over the wardrobe door and throwing it over her body. "Take care of her," he ordered gruffly, leaving the ever-smiling couple behind.

Blythe remained where he left her, her song barely making it passed her lips. "You could have killed her," he said, pulling his damp shirt from his body.

"Her blood was screaming out my name; I could hear it everywhere I went."

He stepped out of his pants and into the tub, facing her. "I wouldn't have left you if I knew it was going to be this bad."

"I've had so much fun tonight," she beamed. "Florence and I danced and howled at the moon, and when we were done, I fed."

"Are you full?"

She leaned back as if to contemplate the question, drawing her legs up over her chest. A weak groan escaped from the back of her throat, "I drank so much, but I am so hungry still."

He leaned forward to kiss her cheek, her pulse racing so fast under her skin that she it felt as though she had a slight fever. He brought his face to hers and he could see her fight to focus on his eyes. "Beautiful," she murmured, placing a hand on his cheek. "beautiful, perfect pain screams in your eyes." She closed her own, whispering something he couldn't understand to herself.

He leaned forward again, grabbing her soft lips with his own, leaving them there for only a moment. Since he began to spend so much time with her, the fog that clouded his head wasn't as strong and he began to see through it. Sitting closer to her now, breathing in roses and tasting the blood on her lips, it thickened again. He thought to say something, but he couldn't remember what it was anymore. She wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him closer to her as he rubbed his hands over her body. His her lips brushed over hers to her cheeks and down to her neck and chest, and then retraced their path. She burrowed her face in his neck and her fangs slid gently out of her gums. "I'm so hungry," she moaned.

His body tensed as he braced the bite, relaxing only once his blood began to flow freely into her mouth. He ran his hands up to her chest, cupping her breasts gently. Her head ripped away from his neck and he could see the light returning to her eyes. She was never immediately herself once fed; she went through a stage similar to Spike's where her blood raced along with her mind. Her lips curled into the Cheshire's grin and she smashed her face against his, pulling her body on top of his and wrapping a hand around his shaft. He leaned back on the cold side of the tub, grabbing her by the ass and pulling her over him. She laughed, her head falling back and a chill running up her spine as she lowered herself on top of him. She placed both hands on his chest as she began to writhe on top of him, her back arching against the electricity that ran through her body. He leaned into her, putting his mouth over her neck and holding it there as if to ask for her permission. She pulled his head closer into her neck and he took advantage, sinking his fangs into the soft skin there. Her pace quickened as he pulled the blood from her veins and the buzz crept up into the back of his brain. His head fell away from her neck and he cried out of deliverance.

He could still feel her there, but the sounds around him fell away along with his sight and all he could see was Buffy. He blinked in an attempt to dismiss her from this moment that she didn't belong, but she stared down at him disapprovingly. _What would she think of you now?_

* * *

Spike turned over in bed, reaching out to the other side in a blind search for Blythe. When he found nothing, he cracked open an eye to peak around the room. The too-big-for-his-tastes clock that hung across the room signaled that the sun would be rising soon. Blythe sat with her knees to her chest on the window seat, her forehead pressed against the windowpane. He admired her for a moment; her dark hair running over the length of her back which rose up and down as though she were breathing. The ring that rarely left her hand sat in front of her, and she seemed unaffected by the ticking threat of the clock. "Come away from the window," he said sleepily. "The sun'll be up soon, love."

She turned to look at him, a smile on her face. "How long do you think I would last?"

He sat up against the headboard, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You think I'd last longer than my brother?"

"Do you mean to test it out?"

She laughed, standing up and moving a hand from the window. "I dream about him sometimes... it keeps me from sleeping."

"Shut those curtains and come to bed," he said. "Florence finally feels well enough to go back to work and we have the apartment to ourselves for the day."

She did as she was told and he admired the shirt that hung from her body as she pulled the curtains closed; it was his and he had to admit, the Sex Pistols never looked so appealing. She crawled across the large span of the bed and into his arms, wrapping an arm around his chest and taking a deep breath. "It seems you didn't sleep much better than I did last night."

"What do you mean?"

"You call to her in your sleep," she said flatly. "Toss and turn and beg her to stay."

He shifted uncomfortably, recalling his frequent dreams. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged under him, "Love never goes away."

"You think I-"

"I told you, no matter what tricks my mind can play on yours, I will never evoke the response that she does."

He struggled to think of a response but luckily, the phone rang. He hopped out of bed to grab it before Alec or Florence could, answering with a gruff "What?"

"Spike," his stomach dropped at the sound her voice and he hear a sigh come from Blythe. Looking back at her, she had turned her attention back to the window, drawing her hand in and out of the light. Buffy sat quietly on the other side of the line, only replying when he didn't. "You need to come back... it's Dawn."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'd just like to say thanks for reading and reviewing one last time! This was my first Buffy story and it certainly won't be my last. I realize I have a lot of growing to do and I can't wait to do so. I _do_ have a sequel planned and I'm ready to start writing! I hope you'll read that as well. Again, thank you for reading and I'll be seeing you soon. -xo


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